


Dudley's Daughter

by theinkwell33



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Magic, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts First Year, Master of Death (Harry Potter), Prophecy, Salem Witches' Institute (Harry Potter), The Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-07 15:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 103,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinkwell33/pseuds/theinkwell33
Summary: Dudley Dursley's daughter, Amelia, is a witch. When she turns eleven, Harry Potter must introduce his cousin to the world of witchcraft and wizardry, and Amelia must prepare to start school at Hogwarts alongside James Sirius Potter and Scorpius Malfoy. Complete.  Cross-posted on FF.





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Quick disclaimer: This fic is an archive version on what I posted on FF quite some time ago, and it is completed..
> 
> Published 7/20/2014

Harry Potter knew something important had happened as soon as there was a knock on the door. It was half-past nine; too late for anyone to be calling on a house this far out in the country without sincere purpose. As he tentatively performed an identification charm with his ear pressed against the cherry wood door, Harry breathed quietly and thought of his scar. Though his scar had not bothered him since the defeat of Voldemort, sometimes he still had to suppress the anxiety and anticipation of pain that welled up inside him out of habit. As he observed the result of the charm he had cast, he frowned in bewilderment.

Harry turned from his position at the door to glance at Ginny, who was holding her wand in alert tension and pointing up at the bedrooms where their three children were lying asleep. She tilted her head inquiringly, and Harry made a gesture telling her it was all fine, there was no need to set protective enchantments.

Harry threw open the door with his wand still in his hand, and the warm summer air rushed in. Dudley Dursley was standing on the doorstep, clutching a wrinkled parchment envelope with emerald green ink scrawled across it. His cousin was still quite heavyset, but he had lost some weight since their last encounter at Aunt Marge's funeral four years previously. His blond mop of hair was pressed against his pink forehead with sweat and he was quaking violently. Harry had not seen Dudley this shaken up since his nasty encounter with the dementors, but was not inclined to tell him so.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked incredulously, but Dudley did not answer. He was staring at Harry's wand with an expression somewhere between fear and the desire to vomit. Wordlessly, Dudley handed Harry the envelope, which was damp from his sweaty fingertips. As Harry glanced at the handwriting and at the familiar crest stamped to the back of the envelope, he understood. "I think you'd better come in," he said, ushering his cousin through the door.

Ginny muttered " _Muffliato_ ," and pointed her wand at the ceiling to prevent their children from overhearing. Dudley blinked in surprise as he observed this, but still seemed unable to speak. Harry stowed his wand in his pocket and led his cousin into the kitchen. Harry set a kettle to boil and lit the burner by hand; he had a feeling using magic would upset Dudley too much. He set the letter on the wooden table, and Dudley sat down heavily in one of the chairs. It groaned slightly as he did so.

The Potter kitchen was spotless except for two glasses of mead that he and Ginny had been enjoying until Dudley had arrived. It was painted a merry sunlit yellow color, and Ginny had framed moving photographs of their friends and children along the walls. A book entitled "Slow Cooking in High-Pressure Cauldrons: A Beginner's Guide" lay on the counter with a bookmark sticking out of it, and a few pungent gurdyroots sat in a brown bowl in the corner with a note propped against it signed,  _From the garden! Lots of love, Luna and Rolf._

Of course, Dudley could not have noticed any of this, for he was staring at the letter as if it were a ghost. There was a very awkward silence as Harry waited for the kettle to whistle, and it was only perpetuated when Ginny entered the room, her midnight blue dressing robes swishing with every step. She sat down beside Dudley, but did not speak. Harry believed this was the first time his wife and his cousin had ever met. Of course, Ginny knew all about their difficult childhood experience together, and Harry could see the look in her eyes that often preceded an excellent casting of a Bat Bogey Hex. Harry shook his head when she glanced at him in silent suggestion, but he grinned nonetheless. The thought of Ginny hexing Dudley was comical of course, but tonight was not a night of laughter for his cousin. After tonight, nothing in Dudley's life would ever be the same.

There was a slight ease in tension when the tea had finally been steeped and poured, though Dudley looked as though he could have used something a bit stronger. Harry thought of the bottle of firewhiskey sitting in the highest cabinet, and hoped he wouldn't need to open it tonight.

As the three sat at the table, Harry picked up the envelope. "Can I open it?" he asked quietly. Dudley nodded once, his watery eyes still wide and fearful.

Harry broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter within. The scrawling writing with the flared letters was familiar to him, as was the name at the bottom. Seeing Headmistress McGonagall's signature was like receiving a friendly wave. He had heard this was going to be her last year before retiring. As Harry scanned the contents of the letter, he couldn't help but smile at his memories of his old professor.

"What are you smiling for?" Dudley asked at last, looking irritated.

"Dudley, has anyone else seen this letter?"

"Well, Hannah was home when they delivered it—she was in the garden. The owl nearly gave her heart failure. But Amelia hasn't seen it. She was at school."

As much as he had liked Hannah when he had met her four years ago, she reminded Harry a little too much of Aunt Petunia. She too liked a clean household, excessive normalcy, and eavesdropping on her neighbors over the hedges. The thought of an owl taking her by surprise was distinctly amusing, and to cover up his smile, Harry spoke again.

"Dudley, before I tell you what this says, I want you to tell me what you already know. Clearly you've recognized the seal, or you wouldn't have come to see me. I want you to tell me about Amelia."

Harry knew that the only way Dudley would come to terms with the contents of this letter was if he said them aloud to himself. If Harry simply told him that Amelia was a witch, Dudley would never believe it.

Dudley took a swig from his tea and patted his forehead with a napkin. After a few minutes, he began to speak. At first, each word seemed to choke him. Then, the stories began to pour out without pause.

"The first time it…happened…we thought it was a freak accident. I mean, people can lift large loads with adrenaline, right? But how do you explain a six-year-old lifting a car with her bare hands just to rescue a cat? And then, when she was ten, we took her to the museum. We were looking at the dioramas, and then suddenly all the animals had come to life. Amelia had her face pressed up against the glass, and a saber-toothed tiger was roaring at her from the other side. There were other strange things, and we always told her to hide it. We had to be normal, especially around Mum and Dad. You know what they're like," he said, pausing at this to look at Harry's face. Harry pressed his lips together and ran a hand through his black hair, imagining what would happen if his aunt and uncle ever found out about Amelia. He almost felt pity for Dudley now. It was easy for him to imagine Dudley helping Amelia conceal her identity as a witch from her grandparents, who would never understand or welcome her. Would they treat her as they had treated Harry? Would Dudley lose the constant doting love of his parents?

Amelia would probably be an outcast to them if they knew. She wouldn't be able to send them messages via owl from Hogwarts or bring them sweets from Honeydukes for Christmas. They would retreat with fear and confusion. Harry disliked this thought, and attempted to push it from his mind. He turned his attention back to Dudley, who had begun to speak again.

"But anyway, weird things just kept happening over the years. And the letter came this morning, and I just thought it looked just like the letters you got when you were her age. And then I knew she must be a…" Dudley left this sentence dangling in the air, and Harry took a deep breath.

"Dudley, I know this is going to be hard, but I need you to say it out loud. You've got to accept it—she is going to need your support," Harry said firmly. Dudley drained his cup of tea in response. There was a long silence, and Harry stared at Ginny while he waited. She was looking at Dudley with sympathy, but her hand was still holding her wand under the table. The quiet was quite oppressive, save a few high-pitched mutterings from two Cornish pixies who were attempting to peek through the kitchen window from outside. Harry turned to them and gave them a nasty look, and they leapt from the windowsill with squeals of laughter that he hoped Dudley could not hear.

Luckily, Dudley picked that exact moment to utter the words, "My daughter…can do magic. She's a witch."

He looked oddly crazed as the statement escaped his lips, as if he wished he could take it back. But Harry merely smiled and poured Dudley another cup of tea.

"Do you want to read the letter from Hogwarts?" Harry asked, and Dudley accepted it into his large beefy hands although his expression was still hesitant. When Dudley had finished reading, his eyebrows had knotted.

"It says they're going to send someone over tomorrow afternoon to explain Hogwarts and the wizarding world to you and your family. They'll talk to Amelia and make sure she wants to come. And they'll give her a list of schoolbooks to buy."

Dudley looked terrified. "We can't do this alone. We're not like…like you," he said, glancing between Ginny and Harry. This time, it was Ginny who spoke up.

"You're in luck," she said. "Our son, James, is going to start at Hogwarts this year too. He got his letter yesterday. We can come with you to buy supplies in Diagon Alley."

Dudley seemed to recoil from this suggestion at first. After so many years of being fearful of "their lot," he was now being thrown into the midst of the wizarding world, asked to support his daughter and rely on his strange and abnormal relative. Harry understood this, and put a hand on Dudley's solid left shoulder in support. "We're here to help," he said softly.

For the first time since Dudley's statement of "I don't think you're a waste of space," on the day Harry had left Number 4 Privet Drive for the last time, a wordless understanding passed between the cousins.

Dudley then nodded and said, "All right. I'll er…call you after they come tomorrow to explain everything so we can set up a date to go shopping."

Ginny looked rather excited; she loved answering the telephone that they had installed in the living room since she had grown up without one. She had even invited Mr. Weasley over to investigate it one afternoon before Lily had been born, and he had been thoroughly thrilled. In fact, Harry had needed to interfere, for Mr. Weasely had tried to disassemble it to see how it worked.

When Dudley had finished his cup of tea, he walked to the door with Harry and Ginny at his side. There were no more words exchanged, but just before Harry made to close the door behind his cousin, Dudley turned around and said, "Harry."

Harry paused, watching the rotund blond man on his porch. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," he said gruffly. "For everything."

"Right," said Harry stiffly, unsure of what to say. He had never known Dudley to have said "thank you" before, and this had caught him completely off guard. "Er…see you soon. Good luck tomorrow," he said. Then Harry closed the door, and he and Ginny stood there in the hallway, marveling at the events that had just taken place.

"Do I sense the beginning of a new friendship?" Ginny asked with a devious smile.

"We'll have to see," sighed Harry. "Although I'm nervous to see what Dudley thinks of Diagon Alley. He'll probably hate me more when it's all said and done."

"I want to take him to see Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," laughed Ginny as they returned to the kitchen to put away the dishes.

"I don't think Dudley will appreciate knowing that George now sells a line of pink umbrellas that give people pig's tails," laughed Harry.

He and Ginny continued talking as they cleaned the kitchen, and when they finally retired for the night, Harry still lay awake, wondering what it would really be like to share his world with Dudley Dursely.


	2. Amelia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward conversation ensues.

"I'm a what?"

"A witch. You can perform magic."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Is it, Amelia? Has anything inexplicable happened to you? Have you ever done something strange? Something you were afraid to talk about because no one would believe you?"

There was a pause as Amelia's brown eyes shifted around the room. She first glanced at her father, who was sitting in a strange crouching position on the sofa, like a fearful mouse hiding from a cat. He was wearing a pressed blue button-down shirt and khaki trousers that sagged a little in light of his most recent weight loss. Nevertheless, the buttons on his shirt still strained a little around his midsection. Her father's face was white, waxy, and held the expression of someone lost in a bewildering dream.

Amelia's eyes then crept to her mother, who was sitting in an armchair beside her husband. Hannah Dursley was wearing a prim white lace dress with a matching headband framing her short blond curls. She looked rather confused and skeptical, and her dark eyes were trained on their guest. Amelia remembered her mother's reaction the first time she had done something…well, magical. Five years ago, her mother had walked in on her delightedly levitating books in midair; she'd made the same perplexed face she was making now, then had promptly shrieked and called Mr. Dursley home from work. When he had arrived, the family had sat in the living room with the window curtains drawn, discussing how to conceal Amelia's abnormality under the dim yellow ceiling light. The best thing for them, as he had proclaimed at the time, was to stay quiet and be normal. Two rules that had become a mantra for Amelia ever since. Stay quiet. Be normal.

After that night, they decided to pretend everything was always fine, and that they were a perfectly ordinary family, thank you very much. But things kept happening, despite their efforts to remain normal. And those curious events had brought another oddity to the Dursley house: the tall man in the living room.

Amelia turned her head to contemplate him as he sat across the coffee table from her. He had knocked on their door that morning with a gigantic brown owl perched on his forearm. He had introduced himself as Professor Dean Thomas over Mrs. Dursley's screams—she was terrified of birds.

He was wearing a long black cloak over black trousers and a red collared shirt. His strange appearance contrasted drastically with the dainty sea-colored walls and delicate doilies that adorned the sitting room. Of course, the owl hooting sleepily from its perch on the mantle did not help much. Amelia imagined that he must be a very unusual professor, for the ones she had seen in movies were always dressed in suits and wore glasses. After all, what kind of teacher would carry a cloak and own an owl?

Apparently a magical one. Professor Thomas claimed he was a wizard, and had just told Amelia she was a witch. Part of her wanted to call him crazy, but she had read the letter that had come yesterday and it was enough to convince her that he was not a lunatic.

She stared at him now, still debating what to say next. Should she tell him about the museum dioramas? The flying books? What about lifting the car? Or the…no, she couldn't, it was too strange.

Had she really been doing magic all this time? Of course, believing she was a witch seemed silly at first, but the memory of seeing the saber-toothed tiger snarling at her through flimsy museum glass was enough on its own to convince her otherwise.

"What I can do…" she began slowly, "What I can do is…magic?"

"It's a part of you, Amelia. Just like it's a part of me. But I've learned how to control it, and I can channel it using my wand. Watch." The professor pulled what looked like a long polished stick from the inside of his jacket. Her father flinched in apparent recognition, and Amelia gave him a curious look that he conspicuously avoided.

Thomas tapped the nearest doily resting on the small carved wood table beside him. It gave a small shudder and promptly turned from lace to a clear and sparkling glass. Mr. Dursley jumped violently in his seat, and looked as though he wanted to sprint into the other room. However, after a glance at Amelia, he seemed to steel himself and remained where he was.

Professor Thomas picked up the doily with two long fingers and held it up to glimmer in the sunlight like a freshly fallen snowflake. After a moment, he handed it to Amelia. As she held the doily in her small hands, she widened her eyes in amazement. Perhaps she wasn't alone, wasn't a freak, wasn't crazy. Perhaps she really was a witch, just as much as he was a wizard.

"So there are other kids like me? That can do…magic?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes. Some come from families like yours, with non-magical parents, and some come from families of witches and wizards."

"Which were you?" Amelia hoped she was not being impertinent and ignored the glare her mother bestowed on her. The man smiled softly.

"I'm of half magical descent. My father was a wizard."

"Does it matter whether your family is magical or not?"

Professor Thomas considered her as if deciding whether or not to tell her something.

"Not anymore," he said finally, but the ends of his lips had turned down as if he were reliving a terrible memory. Amelia sensed this was a sore topic, and moved on.

"How can people like me do magic? If we don't have magical parents, I mean. Where does the magic come from?"

The man looked thoughtful. "No one knows for sure," he said. "But there's a whole department researching that subject at the Ministry of Magic. It's our form of wizarding government," he added, seeing the questioning look Amelia and her mother gave him. Professor Thomas continued.

"Amelia, I'm here to offer you a place at a special school for wizards and witches. It is called Hogwarts. It educates young wizards and witches from the ages of eleven to seventeen. It's actually quite famous, as you will undoubtedly discover as you read up on its history. At Hogwarts, you will take classes like Charms, Potions, Herbology, and many others. I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. If you accept, I can provide you with a list of supplies and put you in touch with several wizarding families in your area so you can meet each other before the start of school."

Professor Thomas paused for a moment, regarding the expressions of the Dursleys. They were all silent and frozen in their seats, but Amelia's thoughts were a hurricane. Winds whispered possibilities in her ears, and the prospect of leaving her family and her home rained upon her. The desire to accept the offer groaned at the center of her heart, but she hesitated. She glanced once again at her parents, who were both still staring at the transfigured doily in Amelia's lap.

"I want to accept," she said slowly, "but I'd like to talk about it with my parents."

"I completely understand. This would be a drastic change for you and your family; you'd be leaving the Muggle world for the first time."

The man was cut off by another flinch from Amelia's father, who reacted to the word "Muggle" with a terrified familiarity. Amelia raised her eyebrows.

"Professor, what is a Muggle?" The new word stumbled across her lips.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the answer came from Dudley Dursley. "It's a term for non-magic people, like me and your mother."

Everyone stared at him in amazement, and he seemed to gulp.

Professor Thomas rolled his wand between his hands. "That's right," he said, looking at Mr. Dursley curiously. "Anyway, I'm glad to leave the information here with you, along with a list of the local wizards and witches who have children attending Hogwarts. If you'd be so kind as to send your acceptance or rejection with my owl, Amory, before the end of the day tomorrow, I'd greatly appreciate it. That will give me enough time to deliver your train ticket to Hogwarts and make arrangements for your escorted guide to the station—the platform's a bit hard to find, you see. If you have any questions, attach them with the letter and I'll answer them."

He rose from his seat, stowing the wand back in his jacket pocket. Her parents seemed to relax at the prospect of his departure, but remained in their seats as though made of stone. Amelia rose, placed the doily on the coffee table, and followed him to the front door.

"Don't mind them," she whispered as Professor Thomas glanced over his shoulder at her parents. He looked concerned. Amelia's mother was now locked in a staring contest with Amory the Owl, and her father was still sitting crouched up, as if in a frightened stupor.

"They'll be all right. My dad's afraid of magic, but my mum's more afraid of the owl, if you ask me. Thank you for coming here to tell me about Hogwarts. I want to go there, I really do, so I'll bring them around."

Professor Thomas smiled kindly, and replied, "I hope to see you in my classes. You'd make a fine witch with some training up. We need people like you."

With that, he exited the house, walked down the gravel driveway, and vanished with a quite loud popping noise that made Amelia start. She closed the door, locked it, and pressed her back against it. She slid down, her tailbone finally bumping against the white tile floor and her feet spread out before her. It all seemed too good to be true, and yet, she knew it was really happening. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, reveling in the excitement. She was a witch, and she wasn't alone. And staying quiet and being normal was now a thing of the past.


	3. Gringotts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A galleon for Dudley's thoughts.

Harry and James walked down the block to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron one week later, ready to meet the rest of their company. James was wearing his favorite maroon robes, which billowed in the gentle breeze. Harry had brought his invisibility cloak, and it was tucked in the magically enlarged pocket of his black robes thanks to an Undetectable Extension Charm. Harry hoped he and his son wouldn't need to make an escape to avoid attention, and so far his luck was holding. Enough time had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts that he could at least venture out in public without being mobbed by interested witches and wizards, but sometimes people still recognized him and insisted on commemorative pictures or autographs. He had always disliked this, but it became even more of a nuisance once his children had been born; he didn't like the idea of strangers trying to stop James, Albus, or Lily for pictures or interviews. The last place he wanted James to be was on the dictating end of a Quick Quotes Quill.

James glanced up at him now, his eyes gleaming with excitement and his black hair ruffling in the breeze. "What are the Dursleys like?" he asked.

Harry hesitated a moment before answering. James, Albus, and Lily had never met Dudley or the rest of the Dursleys for a reason. Dudley had always feared the wizarding world, and Harry had always assumed his cousin wouldn't want to meet any more of "their lot."

He had been correct in this assumption, at least until Aunt Marge's funeral four years ago, when he and Dudley had crossed paths for the first time since they had parted ways at Number 4, Privet Drive. Since then—Harry still couldn't really believe it—they had begun meeting once a year for a coffee to try and patch together some semblance of a relationship.

Meeting up for a yearly cappuccino had obviously not been Harry's suggestion, for he would have been quite glad to never see any of the Dursleys again, but Dudley had been persistent. He'd asked for Harry's address at Aunt Marge's funeral and later contacted him, asking to meet. This desire to ease their strained relationship surely could not have stemmed from their reunion at the funeral, for it had been a tremendously awkward occasion in which Harry and his aunt, uncle, and cousin had all been stuck in the same room for three hours.

Aunt Petunia had gone gray, and Uncle Vernon was still as vast as ever. For the most part, they had sat silently, avoiding Harry's eye, and he in turn had wondered why he had even bothered to come in the first place. Of course, after his disastrous misuse of magic and the resulting inflation of Marge, he'd felt rather guilty about his behavior and had decided to pay his few respects. But he'd forgotten that his aunt and uncle would be there, and they most likely had assumed in turn that he wouldn't show up.

Petunia and Vernon Dursley had placed themselves as far as possible from Harry during the service, even inching farther away every time Harry moved to scratch his nose or adjust his glasses. He'd expected this. Thankfully, they left rather early, clearly avoiding the burden of making small talk with their abnormal nephew. That had also been expected. The only thing Harry had not anticipated was that Dudley–once his parents had left (or rather, escaped)—seemed to be keen to find out how Harry had been doing. Harry had pressed the written address to his country home into Dudley's beefy hand when he'd been asked, assuming it would be the last he'd ever hear from the man anyway. He had been quite wrong.

The real reason for Dudley's sudden wish to see Harry once a year had still been a bit of a mystery until last week. Harry had often wondered if Amelia was a witch, for Dudley never had wanted to talk about his daughter during their meetings and had often asked questions about magic that had never sounded as offhand as Dudley probably intended. "So, how did you do magic without a wand when you were little?" he'd asked on one occasion, trying to keep his voice steady. Simply using the word "magic" still seemed to frighten him. Harry had explained his answer, at first wondering why on earth Dudley would want to know. The only reason he could think of was that perhaps Amelia had shown magical talent, and Dudley was now curious about what that could mean for her future.

He had therefore not been surprised to read the letter Dudley had shown him last week. In fact, he'd been rather pleased. Not only had his hunches about Amelia been correct, but he knew that James would be glad to have a friendly face on his first day at Hogwarts. Rose and Hugo Weasley wouldn't be old enough this year, so James would need to make some new friends. Perhaps James and Amelia could get along better than their fathers had done. But part of Harry still feared that they wouldn't like each other, and that Dudley would assign blame to Harry. Luckily, he was an accomplished wizard who didn't fear being on the wrong end of Dudley's fist anymore, but the idea of making his cousin angry was not something he necessarily welcomed.

"I've never met Amelia, but Dudley's…nice," Harry finally said to James, although he had to suppress the urge to add "sometimes" to the end of his sentence. "He's a bit afraid of magic though, so you'd better be on your best behavior and try not to scare him—no pranks, do you hear me?"

Harry gave his son a stern look, and James grinned back mischievously. Harry continued to frown, and his son eventually sighed in resignation, pulling out a decoy detonator and a puking pasty from his pocket. He gave them to his father, who pocketed them at once.

They had now reached the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and the street was relatively clear. They didn't need to wait long before Harry saw Dudley and Amelia making their way up the street toward them. Amelia was small and bony, with the same dark eyes and blond curls as her mother. She was wearing a lovely yellow dress that complimented the pink complexion she no doubt inherited from Dudley. However, Amelia had a kinder smile than her father. As they drew closer, Amelia's grin became ever more prominent, and she stared up at the sign for the Leaky Cauldron in delight. Dudley, following her gaze, seemed to be unable to find what she was looking at. His eyes slid over the sign as if it wasn't there at all. Giving up, he turned his gaze to Harry, and they shook hands when they were close enough. Not much was said, as both were gazing at James and Amelia, who had shaken hands as well. The two had smiled easily, and began conversing in near whispers. After a moment, Harry turned back to Dudley, and said, "Shall we go in?"

Dudley frowned. "Where are we going? I don't see the Leaky Cauldron anywhere."

"It's just here," said Harry kindly, and he pulled open the door. Dudley blinked several times before following James and Amelia inside. The interior of the Leaky Cauldron was dim and dusty, with the pleasant smell of butterbeer and sanded wood. The long tables were mostly empty, although a few old witches wearing gray robes sat in the corner stirring drinks that frothed and smoked. Tom, the old barkeep, had retired a few years earlier, leaving the place in the care of his son, Ernie, who had brown hair that went to his collarbone and a long scar across his right cheek. Ernie now stood at the bar, wiping down the counter with a white towel and humming softly. He looked up at the new arrivals and pointed out the side door.

"Diagon Alley's that way," he said gruffly, his eyes resting on Dudley, whose Muggle clothes had clearly been noticed. Harry took the lead once more, and led them through the door. Dudley had made an unbelievably high squeak once the bricks in the alley had begun to move at Harry's touch, and Amelia had gasped when Diagon Alley appeared behind the shimmering red brick dust. Even as an adult, Harry still felt excitement rush into his lungs at the familiar sight of the gleaming glass windows, colorful shop awnings, and the bustling witches and wizards with their multicolored robes swishing behind them. He'd been to this place countless times by now, but he knew how it must be to see it for the first time. Sure enough, Amelia looked entranced, her brown eyes gleaming with happiness.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Harry said.

"Harry," Dudley said suddenly, a look of worry on his face. "I don't have any wizard money. When Professor Thomas visited, he told us not to use Muggle money, but we don't have anything else."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Hogwarts sent Dean Thomas? I wish I'd known! He's an old friend, teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts now, I think. I don't think he knew you and I are related," he laughed. "But don't worry about the money. You can convert it to wizard gold inside Gringotts."

"What's Gringotts?" Amelia asked, staring up at the cousins with interest.

"It's the wizard bank. It's run by goblins," Harry said, speaking that last part as casually as possible, although Dudley still began to look like he might vomit. "Goblins?" he said weakly. Harry nodded.

"Hey dad, can you show us where the giant hole was when you helped the dragon escape?" James asked, the corners of his mouth twitching. Harry instantly regretted ever telling James the story of how he, Ron, and Hermione had broken into Gringotts and escaped on the back of a gigantic dragon. What had he been thinking? Now Dudley was looking at Harry as though they had never met before, and Amelia was regarding him as if he were a dangerous rebel.

"No," he said, looking pointedly at James as if to say,  _shut up_. "The chandelier's still gone though, so it might be a bit dim when we go in there. They've only got candles now."

As they made their way to the giant bank, Harry wished he'd made Dudley a Confidence Draught before they'd started the day, as his cousin still seemed to be quite dazed. And this was all  _before_  he was going to have to meet the goblins in person. At least he wouldn't need to visit a vault; Harry honestly wasn't sure Dudley would survive the journey on the cart.

Nevertheless, Harry knew there was a first time for everything in the wizarding world, and therefore coaxed Dudley and Amelia up the steps to Gringotts. Both of them seemed to be quite nervous at meeting a goblin for the first time. As this was not James' first time into Gringotts, he was looking around with an expression of excitement on his face. James loved exploring inside Gringotts, and seemed intent on finding the long scratches on the walls the dragon had made all those years ago...he hadn't found them yet, and his father knew why. Harry might have embellished the story a little bit, but James needn't know.

The interior of Gringotts was just as beautiful and intimidating as it had always been, with goblins walking purposely around the giant high-ceilinged room and cobwebs dangling from the rafters. The hole in the ceiling had thankfully been repaired, and the chandelier was indeed gone. To the average wizard, nothing else seemed at all different. But Harry knew well enough that the tiles in the entryway had been repaired and painted over, so the colors were just the slightest shade darker than they had been before. If he squinted, he could still see some of the spindly cracks in the floor.

Harry guided the group to the nearest goblin, and said, "My cousin would like to make an exchange from Muggle to wizard money, please."

This goblin looked up from his paperwork so fast that the hair protruding from his ears seemed to quiver. He looked Harry in the face with interest, his large bulbous eyes sliding to the dormant lightning-shaped scar. He didn't say anything, but gave Harry a discreet nod and turned to Dudley.

The goblin regarded him with a respectful raise of his eyebrows. "First time to Diagon Alley?" he asked.

Dudley could only nod slowly, but Amelia stared up at the goblin and said, "Yes, sir."

The goblin now looked at Amelia with interest as he reached for a quill. "Hogwarts, then?

Amelia nodded. Dudley handed a few crisp bills to the goblin's now-outstretched hand. The goblin didn't say anything else, and began to count out galleons, sickles, and knuts methodically. He only paused about halfway through to reprimand James, who was inspecting a large golden scale at the other end of the room.

"Oi, get your hands off, that's ancient, that is," he barked, and James' hands sprang away from the scale at once.

As the goblin sat counting, another customer approached the counter and spoke to the goblin right beside them. It was a girl about the same age as Amelia and James, but she was alone. Her hair was auburn and cut very short, and she had very bright blue eyes. As she conversed with the goblin, it became clear to Harry that this girl was American. She seemed to be attempting to exchange dollars for wizard gold, and the goblin was frowning in concentration. The girl glanced around her furtively as the goblin began counting out coins. When she spotted Harry staring at her, she widened her eyes and looked away. As she did so, something strange happened: all the candles lighting Gringotts were snuffed out at once.

The place was plunged from dimly lit to impenetrable darkness, and everyone there gave small shouts of shock. After a few seconds, Harry lifted his wand and relit the candles with a flick of his wrist. As the light chased away most of the shadows, Harry noticed the girl seemed rather startled, and asked the goblin to go a little faster. She seemed eager to leave the bank now. Some of the goblins had run to the entrance and were now inspecting the doorway, attempting to see if a rush of wind had come through. Harry had never seen a blackout like that before. His interest was piqued, but before his thoughts meandered any further, the goblin finally finished counting out coins. Harry stowed his wand, watching as the goblin deposited the coins in a black velvet drawstring bag and handed it to Dudley.

"Thanks for lighting those," he said quietly to Harry, glancing around at the candles. The goblin's face seemed unconcerned, but the large eyes held some certain darkness to them that hadn't been there before.

Harry bent his head in response, and ushered the group away from the counter. He stole another look over his shoulder at the American girl, wondering what she could possibly be doing in Diagon Alley, and whether she'd had anything to do with the candles being blown out. James seemed to have noticed her too, because he whispered something in Amelia's ear and they both turned to look behind them with curiosity.

As they neared the door, Amelia turned forward again and took her father's hand. They stepped back out into the sunlit alley, but paused at the bottom of the steps. Dudley and Amelia began examining the strange new coins with interest, and James stood beside them, telling them how many knuts to a sickle and how many sickles to a galleon. Dudley was going slightly cross-eyed.

"So these here are Galileos?" he asked, holding up two sickles. James laughed and corrected him, placing a galleon on Dudley's gigantic palm. Amelia was examining a knut between two slender fingers and laughing along.

Harry took this moment to survey the rest of the street, deciding which shops they should go into next. He pushed the blackout from his mind with the reassurance that it was probably just a draft, and pointed to Flourish and Blotts.

"Let's go in here first," he said, and led Dudley, James, and Amelia across the cobblestones.


	4. Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New faces.

It took quite a bit of coaxing to get her father to go inside Flourish and Blotts. A cluster of gossiping witches in tall pointed black hats were lingering in the doorway reading slick and shiny magazines emblazoned with "Witch Weekly" in acid green writing, and Dudley seemed to be glued to the cobblestone road.

Nevertheless, the four eventually made their way into the cluttered bookstore. Books of all shapes and sizes were stacked in misshapen heaps on the floor, magazines were tucked behind the umbrella stand, and a few encyclopedias of wizarding accomplishments floated merrily near the ceiling. The sun was falling through the windows in diagonal beams that caught the dusty air and made it dance. James grabbed Amelia's hand at once and led her among the towering shelves and sunbeams to the children's section, where graphic novels entitled "Mitch Maven, Undercover Wizard" were propped against a display stand—Amelia had to blink several times before she was sure that the illustrations were moving—and books like "Rhyming Charms" and "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" were lined against the black wooden bookshelves.

"We'll let them find our school books," James said to her now, "Dad knows what to get."

"Okay," Amelia replied brightly, still scanning the shelves with amazement. She wondered how there could be so much of another world that lay hidden among the streets of London. She almost felt pity for Muggles who would never see how much lay on the other side of that enchanted brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron. Her father was one of the lucky ones, even if he didn't know it yet.

"What's your favorite book to read?" she asked James, and he immediately pulled a thick wrinkled leather book from the bottom shelf. It was a book about Quidditch. Amelia wondered if that was a disease. She must have said this out loud, for James laughed richly.

"Amelia, Quidditch is a sport—it's like football in the Muggle World. Quidditch is played up in the air on broomsticks. There are even teams at Hogwarts. I can teach you the basics if you want, before school starts. Mum actually played professional for a while, and dad was the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in almost a century. I'm sure they'd love to help you learn."

Amelia initially recoiled at the idea of herself whizzing around on a broomstick, soaring dizzyingly high in the air. Her stomach even scrunched up at the mere thought of her feet leaving the ground. It wasn't normal. She always needed to be normal for her parents-

-but she didn't have to be anymore, she remembered suddenly. And she may as well give it a try.

She and James spent a good long while racing between the shelves, investigating books that had strange titles and shiny leather covers. On three occasions, James pressed a small volume into her hands for her to buy. Apparently, there was a lot for Amelia to learn from the wizarding world.

It was only after they had approached the potions section that Amelia heard a man's voice on the other side of the bookshelf. It was reedy and disdainful, with a lazy drawl.

"Scorpius, go try and at least try to meet some other children your age while I get your books. You can't be the only one shopping for Hogwarts today."

There was a quiet reply, but Amelia couldn't hear it well enough, so she pushed two copies of "Eye of Newt: The 32 Best Recipes" apart and listened again, clutching her books against her heart. James followed suit, but instead seemed to be peering through to get a glimpse of their faces. Amelia felt suddenly silly eavesdropping, despite the fact that she'd seen her mother do so through their garden hedge countless times, but she didn't want to stop listening. Something inside her wanted to know more about the world she had only recently entered; she hadn't had nearly enough encounters with other magical people and felt quite eager to know what they talked about. How different were they from the Muggles she knew so well?

"Don't get this book; it's got a scratch across the back. Are there any copies that look a little less…used? Honestly, this place has gone downhill over the years," the drawling man said. He sounded exasperated. "Just go look at the Quidditch books for a while, Scorpius."

"Yes, father," said a small, quiet voice.

"I'll meet you up front once I've got these." There was a sound of some books being shut and stacked together, then a rustle of robes. Only too late did Amelia and James realize the sounds of footsteps were approaching their aisle, and they sprang from their eavesdropping positions right as a small boy rounded the corner. He saw their guilty expressions and raised his eyebrows. Amelia's face burned as if she were standing in front of a fire. She touched the locket at her throat uncomfortably.

"It's rude to eavesdrop," Scorpius said in his quiet voice. His black eyes were narrowed, and he clasped his hands behind his back. He was wearing emerald robes with an inky black crest over the heart, and his white hair was combed to the side, clinging close to his forehead. His expression was one Amelia had seen on the faces of the rich children that had gone to school with her: bored and expectant.

"Er...I'm sorry, I just-"

"What in the name of Merlin is that?" Scorpius interrupted Amelia, suddenly curious. He was looking with wide eyes at the locket around her neck. In her discomfort, she had opened it, and the picture inside was now visible. It was one of her parents together, holding her when she'd been a baby.

"It's a locket," she said. "Haven't you seen one before?"

"Of course I have," Scorpius rolled his eyes, "I meant what's inside. Is that a picture? How come it isn't moving?" He moved closer to get a better view.

"You mean you've never seen a still photograph before?"

"No, all of ours move. Even the paintings," he said. "So are you Muggle-born, then?"

Amelia confirmed this proudly, but Scorpius looked uncomfortable. He glanced back at the aisle where his father was still perusing books and stepped backward. "Don't let my father hear that."

"What did you say, Scorpius?" asked the drawling voice, as if on cue. There was another set of louder footsteps, and suddenly a tall, thin man with white-blond hair and a pointed chin was examining the two children over his son's shoulders. His black robes were fastened over a black shirt that conspicuously covered all his skin from his wrists to his neck. He looked stiff and uncomfortable in the warm bookstore.

"Ah," he said softly. "Who do we have here?" To Amelia, this did not sound like a question. It sounded more like a command.

Startled, she responded, "Er…my name's Amelia Dursley, and this is-"

"James Potter, sir."

"Potter?" the man blinked in recognition. "Harry Potter's son, I assume." Scorpius looked shocked at this revelation.

"Yes, sir," James had turned quite pink. "Who are you?"

"Draco Malfoy, and this is my son, Scorpius."

James had evidently heard of the Malfoys before, because he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Yeah, my dad's mentioned you. Said you were a coward," he spat. Amelia thought this was extremely brave for James to say to an adult wizard.

She half imagined Draco Malfoy whipping out a wand and turning him into a toad, but nothing happened. Draco merely put a hand to his nose, which was slightly bent as if it had once been broken. "Don't call me a coward," he said darkly. His left arm twitched. Scorpius narrowed his dark eyes and stared at James.

Amelia sensed there was some sort of bad blood between the families, but she knit her eyebrows in confusion trying to think of what it could possibly be. Come to think of it, she didn't really know much about the Potters, even if they were family.

She looked at Scorpius in silent questioning and he rolled his eyes in response.

The staring match was then broken up by the approach of Harry and Dudley, who had just turned the corner at the other end of the aisle. Harry stopped abruptly at the sight of Draco, and Dudley, who had been trailing behind clutching a basket with miscellaneous textbooks inside, nearly slammed into him. Harry and Draco met eyes, and a silent sort of hatred seemed to pass between them. Dudley cleared his throat, peering around at Draco and Scorpius.

"Harry," Draco finally said, inclining his head in a rigid nod. Harry returned it.

"Who, may I ask, are you?" Draco asked, now making eye contact with Amelia's father.

"D-Dudley Dursley, sir. I'm Harry's cousin," he managed. He stuck out his hand to shake Draco's, but Draco did not move. After a few moments, Dudley's hand flopped back to his side.

Draco's eyes examined Dudley's Muggle clothing, and he looked inquisitively at Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry made a slight movement of his head from side to side. Draco smirked, but said nothing. There was another long silence.

"We should be going, we've got to purchase these so we can get on with your shopping," Harry finally said to James and Amelia.

"Come, Scorpius, we should find you a proper cauldron." Draco turned to leave, but Scorpius paused for a moment. He pulled a sweet wrapped in glossy red wax paper from his cloak pocket and tossed it to Amelia. He winked. "See you around," he whispered, and followed his father out of the bookstore.

It took a few hours and a few more coaxing pep-talks to her father, but eventually both James and Amelia were now proud owners of standard size pewter cauldrons, potions ingredients from the apothecary, robes from Madam Malkin's, and brass scales. They had even gone inside a magical creature shop, where James bought a small brown and black owl called Hatherley, but Amelia couldn't justify getting herself one—it would terrify her mother too much, and where would she keep it when she came home for the holidays? She instead persuaded her father to let her buy a kitten with sleek black fur and green eyes. His name was Arthur, according to the eye-patch-clad shopkeeper.

The next stop for their shopping was to procure wands, which Amelia had most been looking forward to. They stopped in the shade below the awning of Ollivander's Wand Shop, and Harry and Dudley passed their children the gold needed to buy their wands.

"We'll meet you both outside in a few minutes," Harry told Amelia quietly. "I want to get your father something to drink, he's looking rather ill."

As their fathers walked away, James and Amelia stepped into the cool dark shop. James nearly walked through a spider web that had been spun in the doorway. When their eyes had adjusted from the bright outdoors, they found that there was another girl in the shop in front of them. She heard them approach and turned around, brushing a slender hand across her short hair and beaming.

It was the American girl from Gringotts. "Hello," she said enthusiastically. "I'm Bridget Jacobs. Who are you?"


	5. Magical Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weasley's Wizard Wheezes can bring out the best in people, but also the worst.

Harry and Dudley walked into the Leaky Cauldron, and the glorious shade sheltered their skin from the baking heat outside. Dudley was sweating a great deal, and his hair was sticking to his forehead.

"Don't you get hot in those robes?" he asked Harry.

"No, they're quite light," Harry said, looking down at his clothes.

He almost wished he'd dressed like a Muggle to make Dudley feel more comfortable. But some part of him still relished the idea of Dudley being regarded as "the strange one" for once in his life. For the first time, Dudley was the one who didn't belong. After all those years of having his broomstick and schoolbooks locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and having to tell people he went to St. Brutus' Academy, Harry had to admit to himself that it was nice to have the tables turned.

Glancing around at the pub, Harry marveled at how busy the place had become; clearly today was a popular day to shop for Hogwarts, for the place was full of parents and children clutching bags and baskets full of books and equipment. There were hardly any places open, but they finally spotted an empty table in the far corner and sat down. Dudley spread his thick hands out on the scrubbed wood, glancing around, and Harry followed his gaze. A gray-haired wizard at the table to the left of them was reading a small brown book entitled "Better Gnomes and Gardens" while two possibly sixth-year girls sat at a table to their right, giggling and prodding at a pink pygmy puff that sat snoring on the middle of the table.

Harry ordered them each a butterbeer, explaining to Dudley that it might help him relax a bit.

"What does it taste like?"

"Er…like butter and toffee, and it warms you up on the inside. It's delicious, trust me."

Dudley nodded, and there was a silence that seemed to drag on. Harry was searching desperately for something to say, and Dudley seemed to be doing the same. As it had been during their annual meetings for coffee, there was still a bit of tension between them, which, as Harry had begun to think, might be incurable after so many years of torment at the Dursleys. Harry was just about to ask if there was anything in particular Dudley wanted to see in Diagon Alley when a tall man approached their table and spoke in a snide, smooth voice.

"May I join you? Everywhere else is full, and frankly I'd choose sitting with you two over the girls with the pygmy puff."

"Sure," Dudley sighed, and the newcomer conjured a chair and placed a mug on the table. Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of despair fall over him like a shadow as Draco Malfoy sank into his seat, adjusting the high collar on his robes.

There was a quiet stretch of awkwardness that endured until after Harry and Dudley's butterbeer mugs had arrived. During that time, Harry decided that if someone had told his younger self that one day he'd be sitting in the Leaky Cauldron drinking butterbeer with Draco Malfoy and Dudley Dursley, he would have laughed and told them to shove off. In fact, Ron would probably do exactly that once Harry recounted the events of today to his best friend.

"What was your name again?" Draco said, staring at Dudley with a scrutinizing smile.

"Dudley Dursley, Amelia's father. And what was your name?"

"Draco Malfoy. My son, Scorpius, is currently in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and it's too hot to wait outside. He'll meet me in here shortly."

"What's Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?" Dudley looked perplexed. Malfoy smirked.

"It's a wizarding joke shop. Ginny's brothers founded it," Harry answered. "I can't keep James out of that place," he added, remembering the confiscated decoy detonator and sweets that still lay in his pocket.

"They sell all kinds of things; sweets that make you ill so you can skive off class, wands that turn into rubber chickens, powder that makes impenetrable darkness, and even Ton-Tongue Toffee. It makes your tongue almost four feet long," Draco said. "They certainly enjoy foolish pranks, the Weasleys."

Dudley had gone very pale, and nearly spluttered out a large gulp of butterbeer he'd just taken. Harry at once knew what Dudley was thinking of; how could either of them forget the time Fred and George had slipped Dudley a Ton-Tongue Toffee the summer before Harry's fourth year? Of course, Harry had thought it was brilliant at the time, but it had only added to the multitude of reasons Dudley feared anything magical.

Draco seemed not to have noticed, for he continued lazily. "Of course, I suppose we all did enjoy pranks during our time at Hogwarts."

Harry, being the victim of many of Draco's "pranks", did not respond. Dudley, however, looked interested and seemed keen to stay included in the conversation. "What did you do?"

"Well, I used to put all kinds of hexes on people up at school; one of my particular favorites was one that gives you beaver teeth that just kept growing," he demonstrated with a gesture. Dudley guffawed, and Harry reddened in anger, thinking of poor Hermione, who'd been the victim of that curse once.

"I used to love pranks too," Dudley said after a swig of butterbeer. He seemed to be warming up to Malfoy, which was not something Harry was comfortable with. Of course, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Both of his childhood bullies would no doubt get along with each other.

"I'd get kids in trouble for no reason at school, and sometimes my friends and I would shove their heads in the toilets on the first day." Malfoy snorted in amusement and Harry cleared his throat. All these things had been done to him during his time living at the Dursleys, and hearing his cousin recount them to Malfoy was like reliving them all over again, only worse. He began to wish he could extricate himself from the chair and find James again; Dudley knew better than to laugh about his gang's escapades in front of his children.

As if James had heard his father's thoughts, at that very moment he came sprinting into the Leaky Cauldron and arrived at their table quite out of breath. He was panting so hard that he hardly even noticed Draco Malfoy sitting there.

"Can…we…go…to…Weasley's…Wizard…Wheezes?" he finally managed to say between gigantic mouthfuls of air.

"All right, but I'm coming with you. I want to make sure you remember what your mother told you this morning. No more shrinking silverware—it's driving her mad. Why are you in such a hurry to go, anyway?" Harry asked, grateful for the excuse to escort his son to the shop. He'd been hoping to see George Weasley anyway. In addition, Harry wasn't feeling very charitable to his cousin at the present moment, and privately hoped Dudley would see the stack of pink umbrellas that were only a best-selling item because of him.

"Well, Amelia and Bridget want to go before they sell out of everything. It's already mad in there," James said, his speech returning to normal speed.

"Who's Bridget?"

"She's the same age as us. She's from America, we met her in Ollivander's. Oh, and look-" he drew a polished wand from his pocket and brandished it in front of Harry. "Nine inches, willow and unicorn hair. He said it was  _resilient,_ whatever that means!" Harry was thrilled, and rose out of his seat to congratulate James. Dudley got out of his chair, but Draco stayed seated to wait for Scorpius, examining his mug with feigned interest. Harry did not say goodbye.

They reached the multicolored awning of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which read,  _Magical Mayhem Inside_ in flourishing script _._ Miniature fireworks were being set off from the second floor balcony and they exploded into the sunlight with shimmers and bangs. Amelia and a girl who must be Bridget were waiting outside the busy shop. Amelia was still holding her newly purchased wand in her hands, and she immediately approached Dudley.

"Look, dad, look at my wand!" Dudley smiled nervously, careful not to touch it. "That's…great," he finally said.

"Oh, and this is Bridget, we met her in the wand shop," Amelia added, and Bridget shook Dudley's hand with a giant smile. Harry shook her hand as well, and as her sea-colored eyes slid over his scar, she made a tiny squeaking noise and then said, "Nice to meet you," before turning scarlet and quickly walking back to Amelia's side.

"Can we go in?" James asked impatiently, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the wares inside.

"Yes, all right, go on," Harry sighed, letting Amelia, James, and Bridget race into the store and following at a slower pace.

If magical mayhem had a definition in the dictionary, Weasely's Wizard Wheezes would most definitely be the accompanying image. Amelia was quite sure she had never seen a place that felt so alive…or so chaotic. Girls were sniffing at love potions and giggling, boys were examining the Skiving Snackboxes with enthusiastic horror, strange bat-like creatures hovered near the ceiling, and James even handed her a sample of Mealworm Extract, which apparently could make your eyes change color temporarily. She tried it at James' insistence, but immediately spat it out, a horrible taste permeating her mouth. As she did so, James roared with laughter and Bridget giggled sympathetically. Seeking to relieve the terrible taste of burned rubber from her tongue, she felt around in her dress pockets for a mint to no avail. She then remembered the sweet Scorpius had given her in Flourish and Blotts, and she decided to try that instead.

As soon as it touched her lips, she felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to vomit. Seizing the nearest empty trick cauldron, did so quite loudly. A tall man with red hair and a multicolored top hat who happened to have been walking past stopped abruptly as James and Bridget cried out in shock. He raced toward Amelia, and placed a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Looks like a Puking Pasty. Don't know how you'd have gotten one of those, though; we've packaged 'em all up in boxes," he said. Amelia buried her face in the cauldron again as another wave of nausea hit her.

"What'd you pack them up for, George?" asked James indignantly.

George gestured to Amelia and the ruined cauldron in response. "We can't have people trying them in the store anymore," he said. "We're running out of trick cauldrons as it is, so we're only selling them in the Skiving Snackboxes now. Here," he said, pulling something wrapped in colorful wax paper from his pocket and giving it to Amelia.

"Eat this and you'll feel better, I promise. I'm awfully sorry about that. I'm George Weasley, by the way. I own the shop." He waited for Amelia seemed to regain color in her cheeks and then asked, "What's your name?"

"Amelia," she said.

"Where'd you get that pasty from, anyway?"

"Scorpius Malfoy," James answered with a scowl, and Amelia swallowed hard. "That idiot," George sighed. Bridget and Amelia laughed.

"I wish we could be more careful with who we sell our products to, but there's only so much we can do. Tell you what, though," he said, rising and grabbing a small black stone with a white line down the middle off the shelf behind them, "take this as my treat. An apology."

Amelia took the cold stone in her hands, and the word  _Hummingbird_ written in black script appeared on the white stripe down the middle. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's a Cloner. I just invented these this summer. It senses magic nearby and replicates the power. So if someone hexes you, the Cloner will store the hex and regurgitate its effects on someone when you ask it to. Just say the password that's on the white line, point to the person you want to hex, and it'll respond. If I were you, though, I'd clean off the password once you've memorized it so no one else can use it," he added, eying James' expression of excitement with a grin.

"Thanks," she said, looking up into George's face. "Sorry about the cauldron."

"No worries," he replied kindly, and he turned on his heel and strode away. He didn't make it very far, however, as there was a tremendous cry from across the room.

"OI, YOU!"

Dudley was brandishing a pink umbrella and crossing the room rapidly, with Harry following behind. Dudley was breathing hard and was turning purple. "You used me just for a laugh! That's sick, that is," he shouted as he finally reached where George was standing. George was regarding Dudley with stunned recognition and confusion. Amelia saw Harry put two fingers to the bridge of his nose.  _Sorry,_ he mouthed to George as he stood behind his cousin. Amelia thought it looked as though Harry was trying very hard not to laugh.

George Weasely opened up his mouth to say something, his mischievous eyes no longer sparkling, but Dudley was quicker. Before Amelia could even fathom what was happening, her father pulled back his right arm and punched George Weasely straight in the face. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then, from beside Amelia, who stood shocked into paralysis, Bridget muttered, "Magical mayhem, indeed."


	6. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia learns to fly.

It had only been three days since the fiasco at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and Harry was glad to be home with his family and out of the company of the Dursleys. Ginny had been quite furious with him after Dudley had attacked George, and rightfully so. George had sorted his bruises out within the hour and seemed to find everything rather funny, but Harry Potter and the Weasleys causing a scene in Diagon Alley was not exactly something that would go unnoticed in the Daily Prophet. The last thing their family needed, according to Ginny, was publicity, and Harry knew she was right.

Although Dudley was actually the cause of the mayhem, Harry knew that it wouldn't do much good to blame anything on his cousin at this point. Dudley would still need some time to learn how to set foot in a wizarding establishment comfortably…or, more specifically, without starting a fistfight.

Sighing, Harry perused the most recent Daily Prophet while standing at the counter in the kitchen. His wand was stuck in the back pocket of his trousers, and he was holding a cup of tea with his elbows propped against the freshly printed pages. He was reading the article detailing the debacle that had taken place, thankful at least that his children had not been mentioned. Nevertheless, he read the sentences with disgusted apprehension, as if the article were written in bobotuber pus.

_Magical Mayhem in Diagon Alley!_

_By Rita Skeeter, Resident CelebriWiz Analyst_

_For many years after the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the famous Harry Potter has maintained a rather quiet life in the wizarding world, merely popping up now and again with mysterious rumors surrounding his job as an Auror for the Ministry of Magic._ _After the 2010 creation of the Dark Art Crime Intelligence Agency (DACIA), a sub-committee of the Auror Office, some have wondered whether Harry has played a role in the missions abroad to Cairo, Salem, Paris, and even Hong Kong._ _While Harry never gives hints to what really goes on in his career or personal life, one could say aspiration for perpetuated fame might have been Harry's goal when he came to Diagon Alley three days ago._ _Apparently, a vicious brawl broke out inside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes between Harry Potter, his brother-in-law, George Weasley, and a Muggle man who seems to be a friend of Harry's._ _While the reason for the fight is still unclear, we can speculate Harry's well-known temper has resurfaced once more in his attempt to gain attention._ _Or perhaps he was under the influence of any number of George Weasley's crazed inventions that were present inside the shop._ _George Weasley, now the sole owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, refused to comment when approached for an interview._ _George's most recent accomplishment in the wizarding world comes from his invention of the Cloner, a device that can replicate and cast spells without the use of a wand or proper incantation._ _Schools and businesses worldwide have purchased them, given the prospect of their usefulness to Squibs and those struggling with charmwork._ _Perhaps George's frivolous line of work in the pranks business is finally providing something more helpful to the world than the newly improved and fast-acting constipation pills known as U-No-Poo…(For more, see page 9)._

While used to Rita Skeeter's acid pen, the words nevertheless made Harry roll his eyes and adjust his glasses. A "vicious brawl" had taken place, had it? In his mind, he still saw Dudley punching George, and then George stumbling backward into the stand of Cloners, which scattered onto the floor and bounced like stones on water. Harry had immediately grabbed both of them by their arms and pulled them outside to avoid causing a commotion. Only one punch had been thrown, thankfully, and George was sympathetic to the situation and hadn't retaliated. That was what had really happened, but the truth had never stopped Rita Skeeter before, and she must have had a witness willing to speak to her and let her twist the words. Instantly, he remembered seeing Scorpius Malfoy's pallid face grinning slyly at him from behind the fallen Cloner shelf as Harry had rushed back into the shop to gather up the children. Perhaps Scorpius had told Rita all she'd needed to hear. Harry made a huffing noise and took a sip of his tea. He still had a sour look on his face when Ginny walked into the room a few minutes later, pressing the telephone against her ear and holding another basket of gurdyroots from Luna and Rolf in her hands.

"I must admit, I was surprised to hear from you," she was saying, sounding icy. "No, I suppose not…No, it'sfine with us if she really wants to. We can pick her up, if you don't mind us using the Floo Network."

She paused, biting her lip and setting the basket down on the counter. She straightened the front of her lilac robes.

"It means we will use a fireplace for transport…of course, we're not going to burn her up," she said with exasperation. "Well, maybe next time then. You're sure you want to drive? All right, in an hour sounds fine, see you then." She hung up the phone.

"That was Hannah Dursley," she said. "Amelia wants to come over; James invited her when they were on their way back from Diagon Alley."

Harry decided if Amelia and James wanted to still be friends, he should encourage that relationship, even though he and Dudley were not particularly keen on speaking to each other at the moment. He agreed, and an hour later, Amelia stepped through their front door wearing denim and a lemon-colored blouse. She and James immediately made their way to the living room, no doubt to play Exploding Snap, learn Wizard's Chess, or read the latest issue of "Mitch Maven, Undercover Wizard" sitting on the bookshelf. After a curt nod to Hannah, who was idling in the car, Harry closed the door, locked it with his wand, and returned to the kitchen with Ginny. Together, they determined James and Amelia would be best left to their own devices, and instead decided today would be a great day to teach Albus and Lily to de-gnome the backyard and get rid of the Cornish Pixies living in the drainage pipe.

Amelia sat on the wooden floor in the Potters' living room, marveling at the books stacked above her. She had brought the books James had recommended for her in Diagon Alley, in the hopes that he could answer any questions she had as she read. When she told James this was her plan, he pointed to a small book she'd bought in Flourish and Blotts.

"Read that one first," he said with authority. The title was embossed with gold and pressed into the soft red cover. It read, The Tales of Hogwarts and was written by someone called Xenophilius Lovegood. Amelia held back the urge to snort at the name, for it was certainly the strangest she'd ever seen. James was looking at the book with fond reverence. "What's so special about it?" she asked, taking it in her hands and flipping through the pages. The writing was very small, and each chapter was in a different color of ink.

"It's about the most evil wizard that ever lived, and how he was stopped during a battle at Hogwarts."

"Really? The school we're going to go to?"

James nodded in response.

"Who was the evil wizard?"

"His name was…" James' voice had become a near whisper, "Voldemort."

Once again, Amelia had to hold back a scoff—what kind of name was that?

"Who stopped him?"

James went rather red. "My dad," he said quietly but proudly. "You wouldn't know, since you're Muggle-raised, but my dad and his friends defeated Voldemort when they were seventeen."

Amelia's eyebrows skyrocketed into her bangs.

"He doesn't like it when I read this book, he says it'll make me see him differently, but I don't care—I like knowing my dad protected us all. Just do me a favor and don't tell him I showed it to you." James looked around the room, as if expecting his father to stroll in wearing a disapproving expression.

Amelia turned her head to the side, studying the pages again. There it was, on the top right corner of the paper, in the middle of a sentence: "Harry Potter" was written there, sure enough. Had her own father known about Mr. Potter's defeat of Voldemort? Surely he must have, he'd already known his cousin was a wizard! Why hadn't he said anything to her? Amelia had had no idea Harry Potter was…

"…famous…your dad is famous?"

James turned even redder. "Yeah, but don't say anything about it, please. I just thought you might like to read about it since you're coming to Hogwarts. It talks about all the battles, and about the school's history. Oh, and Draco Malfoy's in there too; I think Lovegood embellished a bit, but apparently Uncle Ron punched him in the nose during the battle because he was trying to join Voldemort's side." At this, Amelia laughed sonorously, feeling much better after her initial anger at being tricked by Scorpius Malfoy into eating a Puking Pasty.

James continued, "Old Lovegood's a family friend—he's a bit of a nutter—but he writes a far better story here than anything you'll find in Hogwarts, A History. Once you've read it, a lot of the wizarding world will probably make more sense," he said.

Amelia was still nodding, wondering how it could have been possible to not know she was related to the savior of the wizarding world. "Wow…I'd feel embarrassed that I didn't know, if I weren't so shocked," she finally replied with a small upturn of the corners of her mouth. James smiled. "Well, go ahead and read it then—I'll answer any of your questions if you want. And if you get sick of reading," he added, "we could always take a ride on the broomsticks." Amelia could immediately tell this was what James really wanted to do; it shone out of his skin and sparkled in his eyes like sun on water. His face was illuminated with a mischievous expression that Amelia was starting to think was contagious.

"You know what, let's read later," she grinned back. "Show me how to fly a broomstick, James Potter."

A few short minutes later, Amelia was running through the long yellow and green grass behind the Potter cottage, feeling the longest blades tickling her knees as she sped across the field following James. She could feel her hair swinging across the back of her shoulders as she ran, heard the breath rattling in her lungs, and saw the horizon in the distance moving up and down with her gait. The broom she was holding with excitement and apprehension felt lighter than she had been expecting, and she gripped it firmly as she followed James to the center of the empty field. When they were standing side by side, they both mounted the brooms, and kicked off from the ground.

Amelia felt herself soar upwards, the grass below rolling like the sea and the house shrinking to the size of a matchbox. Ordinarily, she was terrified of heights, but inexplicably, being on a broom high above the countryside with a friend seemed to be not only easy, but absolutely  _wonderful_. She could see the rolling hills in the distance, the patches of farmland stretching out like a quilt over a sleeping body. If she squinted, she could maybe see her house in the next town over. And next to her, James did a steep dive, pulling up effortlessly just above the trees. She could see the rest of the Potters far below, working in the backyard, the size of ants. She decided to test out the steering on her broom, and did a couple loops high above the house at a rapid pace. Suddenly, she saw James rushing back up to her, holding what looked like a red apple.

"See if you can catch this on your broom," he called. Amelia wondered if he was crazy. "Don't be silly, I'll fall," she protested, but James shook his head.

"You'll be fine! We'll start out just tossing it back and forth at this height, all right?"

They began throwing the apple back and forth, with Amelia at first focusing on staying balanced on the broomstick. The fear inside her seemed to be waking from a long sleep, and the worry accompanying her fear of falling began to seep into her blood like cold water. But as she became more comfortable with holding the broom with one hand, her catches became more daring—and more fun. Soon enough, they were diving for catches at great speeds, hurtling so fast toward the descending apple that the air stung their cheeks and dried out their eyes. Amelia felt herself laughing with glee, embracing the feeling of freedom and danger. They continued playing for what felt like hours, until Harry motioned them to come in. Amelia's mother would be back soon, he said, and the children sighed as they stored the broomsticks back in the cupboard and wiped their wind-tousled hair from their eyes.

"Can I come back tomorrow?" she asked James as they walked back into the house. James nodded enthusiastically. "I want to start preparing for school—maybe we should try out a few of the spells we've got to learn," he responded. "You should bring your wand and your books." Amelia felt warmth spreading in her chest at the thought of using her wand for the first time. She smiled with wild happiness, and James returned it in kind. When her mother pulled into the twilight-lit driveway, Amelia waved goodbye to the Potters and clambered into the car, holding The Tales of Hogwarts and her other books under her bony arm. As they pulled away, Amelia noticed James was still standing on the front porch, waving good-naturedly. Harry and Ginny stood behind him, holding hands and smiling cheerfully. Amelia pressed her head against the cold glass window, waving back. She was filled with wholesome joy; she was glad she had met the Potters, glad she was different, and glad she was a witch.


	7. September 1st

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the Hogwarts Express!

Time passed quickly over the next few weeks of August, and Harry's house had become a hub of activity. Amelia had come over countless times to fly with James, and sometimes they spent hours sequestered in the living room, practicing spell intonations and reading from their books. Harry even had the sneaking impression that James had showed Amelia The Tales of Hogwarts. The reasons for this suspicion arose from the fact that Amelia seemed to regard him with a little more respect and perhaps a little more fear, but it also stemmed from the fact that James was his son, and was therefore quite good at going against Harry's wishes.

Harry wondered what Amelia thought of him, having now read the book. He knew that Xenophilius Lovegood had done a marvelous job of storytelling, but was secretly glad that he had left out what had really happened that night in the Forbidden Forest. No one besides his close friends knew about his death, his conversation with Dumbledore, or his choice to return and defeat Voldemort for good. Harry was glad for this, because people would almost certainly have treated him differently…at least, more than he was already accustomed to. Nevertheless, some small part of Harry wanted Dudley to read the book, so that perhaps he would understand everything Harry'd been through.

How would Dudley react once he knew the truth about Harry's life? Harry still wasn't sure. Someday, perhaps soon, he'd tell Dudley in full detail what happened the night he'd died and returned, the night that life had won out over death. Although, given Dudley's still somewhat fragile nature when it came to magic, Harry wasn't sure now was the best time to tell him all of this. But if Dudley was going to be part of the wizarding world, he'd need to know its history. And a majority of that history unfortunately included the man with the lightning-shaped scar. Many times, Harry nearly picked up the telephone to call Dudley and ask to meet. Every time, he drew his hand away at the last second, and pretended to straighten the adjacent basket of gurdyroots when Ginny looked at him curiously. He decided that there would be a more appropriate time, once things between them had settled out and they were on better terms.

Harry knew that he and Dudley were going to see each other again very soon; the date of James and Amelia's departure for Hogwarts was fast approaching. In fact, as September first roared down the track ahead of them all, many visitors came to the Potter household. The Weasleys came by in succession; George had stopped by for tea the week before, and had surreptitiously slipped a few licorice wands to James, Albus, and Lily before departing. Bill and Fleur had come for a quick glass of mead last week before picking up Victoire from her date with Matthias Zabini, who lived a few towns over. When Teddy Lupin had arrived only two days ago for dinner, Harry had been careful not to mention Victoire or her boyfriend to his godson. He'd felt it would have been tactless, considering he already knew that Teddy had feelings for her.

Ron came by more frequently, perhaps to compensate for the fact that Hermione was working double hours at the Ministry and couldn't get away. "She sends you her love," Ron said with a lopsided grin. "She's been asked to repair the time-turners in the Department of Mysteries. Since she's used one before, they asked her to do the job. They offered to suspend her other work, but you know Hermione. She's taken it on in  _addition_  her main duties." Harry agreed that was indeed Hermione's nature. After he'd seen her take every class offered in their third year, simply for the challenge, he was unsurprised at her enduring spirit.

Ron had been quite amused at the fiasco that had taken place in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "To be honest, it doesn't surprise me much that Dudley punched George," he'd said one afternoon as he and Harry strolled in the garden. "He's seems like somewhat of a violent bloke, from what you've told me. I guess maybe being thrust in to the wizarding world was hard for him, and he just couldn't handle all of it at once."

Harry had nodded and nudged a garden gnome away with the toe of his shoe.

"But I keep thinking about that American girl in Diagon Alley. What do you think she's doing here? It's a bit weird," Ron had continued. "I mean, I used to hear stories about people moving around or sending their kids abroad for school, but I never really gave any thought to what it would be like to have someone from America at Hogwarts. Mind you, she could just have family here."

"She was alone when we met her," Harry had recalled. "She was in Gringotts all by herself."

"That's strange. I wonder which school she would have gone to in America."

"Well, there's one in Salem," Harry had pointed out. "Remember? They had a tent at the Quidditch World Cup with a banner for the Salem Witches' Institute."

"Yeah, maybe. I'll ask Dad or Charlie; they'd know."

By the time the thirty-first of August had arrived, James' trunk had been packed, all Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products had been dutifully removed (for the third time), and Hatherley the owl had been stowed in his cage, much to James' chagrin.

"Can't I let him out just once more?" he asked that morning while Ginny waved her wand over the bacon in the kitchen.

"No, and that's final," she said. "He's got to get used to being in that cage; you've got a long journey to Hogwarts, and you won't want him getting stir crazy on the train. It's better for him to be inside until you get there; he's been out flying all summer."

Amelia telephoned that afternoon to ask a few last minute packing questions, which James was more than happy to answer. They had already begun what seemed to be an infallible friendship; for every awkward moment between Harry and Dudley, there were three inside jokes between James and Amelia.

"No, don't bring the cauldron stand, you won't need it," James said into the phone. "They provide them up at school…don't worry about your cat, Arthur will be fine; you can take him into the compartment with you. I'm bringing Hatherley, but he's got to stay in his cage." James shot his mother a sad, doe-eyed look, which Ginny promptly ignored.

The Potters spent that evening celebrating James' last night at home. They played a few rounds of Exploding Snap, made some mulled cider in the slow-cooking cauldron, and watched the Cornish Pixies frolick in the twilight. Albus seemed quite jealous of James, and eyed the packed trunk in the corner enviously. Harry had already discussed this with Albus, but knew it was no good telling him again that the year would pass quickly enough. Lily was too busy staring through the leaves of the trees at the cobalt-blue pixies, entranced by their devilish grins and tiny giggles of delight. Once the sun's last vestiges of light were lost to the starry darkness, the children were taken to bed. Harry imagined James wouldn't sleep a wink, but tucked him in anyway as an act of good faith. Then, Harry and Ginny cleared away the dishes together, as they always did, and shared a long kiss before all the lights in the Potter house went out for the night.

The next morning was well organized thanks to Ginny, and the family had ample time to get ready before they left for King's Cross Station. While they still needed to get up early, no one seemed to mind. There was a layer of excitement in the air that had entered in along with the faintest chill in the air that always arrived on September first. Everyone breakfasted and packed for the journey to London, and James made sure everything was in his trunk five times, upon Ginny's request. When Ginny went to call the Dursleys to make sure Amelia was ready, Harry decided it was finally time to do something he'd been looking forward to for a while. He pulled James aside, and together they walked into the garden to stare at the early morning sunrise.

"James, I have something I want to give you. It was something I received during my first year at Hogwarts, and now I want you to have it. It belonged to my father, who shares your name. And it's something that's been passed down, father to son, for generations of Potters." Harry reached inside his magically enlarged front pocket, and pulled out his invisibility cloak. He saw James' eyes widen in curiosity and excitement. "And now it's yours. But-" he moved it quickly out of James' reach, for he'd moved his hand forward in order to receive it, "-I will only to give it to you under the same condition by which it was entrusted to me."

Harry waited until his son was staring at him intently. "Use it well," he finally said, and let the silky, watery material fall through his fingers and into James' extended hand.

"Try it on," Harry said, and watched in bittersweet delight as his son quickly vanished from view.

"I'm invisible!" James cried enthusiastically. "Oh, that's awesome!"

"Be careful with it, James. It's extremely rare, and it will come to mean a lot to you. But I'll take it right back if I get word you're causing trouble-"

"I won't cause trouble," James protested. Harry looked at him with exaggerated skepticism. "…often," James added with resignation. Harry laughed.

King's Cross station was thoroughly busy when the Potters arrived. The rounded ceiling overhead gleamed in the sun, and people stood in the streams of light that poured down from above, illuminated as they leaned up against the brick walls or bustled off to their platforms to board. When they reached the barrier between platforms nine and ten, the Dursleys were waiting, standing off to the side of the bustling masses walking in each direction. Amelia was wearing a red dress and black shoes, the locket at her throat sending off flashes of light as she moved around, straightening her trunk and scratching Arthur between his black ears. Dudley was wearing a stiff button-up shirt and khaki pants, and Hannah stood a little behind him, wearing jeans and a pink blouse, her hands clasped behind her back.

Dudley approached Harry almost robotically, extending his plump pink hand. Harry took it hesitantly, and said, "Hi, Dudley."

"Hi," his cousin replied awkwardly. "Look, about before, when we were in Diagon Alley…"

"It's fine, I know this all really hard to take in."

"Yeah, but I shouldn't've punched George. I was being stupid," he said.

"Well, okay, yeah," Harry conceded, "but I understand. And about the pink umbrellas, I shouldn't have laughed-"

"It's fine," Dudley said. "To be honest, after I had a few days to think about it, the idea actually is a bit funny. Just please don't go around telling people it was inspired because of me. I don't think I could live with it."

Harry chuckled. "All right."

There was a partially awkward pause in the conversation, and then Harry asked, "Are you excited for Amelia? This is a big day for her."

Both of them glanced at Dudley's daughter, who was holding Arthur in her arms while James tickled the cat and stroked the underside of his furry chin. As James did so, the cat purred loudly, and Amelia giggled.

"Yeah, I am. I think she's excited. She always comes back from your house with all these stories about goblins and dragons and broomsticks, and she's just beaming. It's like a whole other world, and I think she's glad to be part of it. She never really fit in with Muggle kids anyway," Dudley said. The word Muggle seemed to stumble on its way out of his mouth, as if the word didn't really belong there. Harry nodded, understanding exactly what Dudley meant. He'd never fit in at Muggle school either; but that might also have been because of the hand-me-down clothes he'd had to wear, and because of the younger Dudley's childish vendetta against his abnormal cousin. Things had changed somewhat since then, but Harry still felt there was some irreparable damage in their relationship.

"Well, I'm glad she and James have become such good friends. Now Amelia has a friendly face at school."

"She's quite happy, I think," Dudley agreed.

They were silent for a few more moments, but then Ginny and Hannah approached. "We should probably go through the barrier," Ginny said, presenting her watch. Harry agreed, grateful for the distraction. James went first through the concealed entrance to Platform 9 ¾, followed by Ginny, Albus, and Lily. Hannah and Amelia went next, but not before casting concerned glances at Harry, as if worried the barrier would turn back to solid brick before they could pass through. Nothing of the sort happened, however, and in no time they had crossed over. It was now only Harry and Dudley left.

"Best to take it at a bit of a run, Dudley," Harry said encouragingly. "Come on."

They began to jog, the barrier looming closer and closer, until suddenly, there was a rush of wind, and the two cousins were standing at the platform in front of a massive, steaming, black and crimson train emblazoned with the words "Hogwarts Express." Dudley blinked in surprise, and turned around to face the wall they'd just arrived through in disbelief. He put his hand up against the wall, and it passed through as if it were merely a projection.

"Whoa," he breathed, and Harry patted him on the back. "I told you we'd be fine," he said.

The two of them joined the rest of the family, and helped Amelia and James stow their trunks in one of the compartments. The children then came back off the train once more to say goodbye.

Harry saw Dudley embrace Amelia gently and whisper something in her ear that made her smile. He turned to face James, and crouched so that they were looking eye to eye.

"Be good, understand? You're there to study, not to pull pranks. And no dueling or we'll bring you straight home."

"I know, I know," James sighed. "Thank you for the cloak," he added. "I know I didn't say it before, but I really like it, and I can't wait to use it."

"Use it well," Harry said again. "Don't tell anyone else you've got it though. It's our secret." And because he couldn't help himself, he added, "Please  _especially_  don't tell Scorpius Malfoy."

"Merlin's pants! Of course not!" James cried indignantly. Harry cracked a smile. He embraced his son, and then James went to say goodbye to Ginny, Albus, and Lily.

It was five minutes to eleven before all the goodbyes had been said, and the train had started to whistle now, signaling that everyone should board.

Harry had to resist the urge to get on and find seats for himself, Ron, and Hermione. This was ingrained in him after so many years of not wanting to miss the one train that would take him to his favorite place in the world. He had been conditioned to feel that whirl of excitement, to worry about making it aboard in time, and to anticipate staring out the window as they left the world of Muggles behind. And now, so many years after he'd left Hogwarts, his son would be going, making new memories but building that same love for the school.

James and Amelia were now visible in the window facing the platform, waving wildly at their parents. Another face then joined them in the compartment, and Harry saw Bridget grinning at them as well. Harry and Ginny clasped hands as the clock hands signaled eleven o'clock, and the train began to slowly move away. There was a tugging in Harry's heart as he watched his son begin to grow smaller as the train moved into the distance. James waved one last time at his family before the train turned the corner and he was lost from view. Harry let his hand fall back to his sides, and whispered, "Good luck," as the train disappeared. From two feet beside him, his cousin whispered the same words.


	8. After the Train: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dudley gets the truth.

No sooner had the train gone did Dudley turn to Harry and ask him to go to lunch. Harry was extremely surprised, but accepted, grateful for the distraction now that he was keenly feeling James' absence. Ginny and Hannah decided they would go shopping with Lily and Albus in tow; they had already come all the way up to London, and wanted to make the most of the trip.

Harry stopped once or twice on his way out to sign a few autographs for people who had recognized him; Harry knew a few of them from his time at Hogwarts; a balding Justin Finch-Fletchley told him he'd send the autograph to his son, Pete, who was a second-year. And Dennis Creevy, who was still scrawny and rail thin, ran up to shake Harry's hand enthusiastically, then asked a passing Ernie MacMillan to take his picture with the Boy Who Lived. Dennis pressed a gigantic Polaroid camera into Ernie's hands, and then had gone to stand beside Harry with a gleaming grin.

"Colin would have loved this," he said in an undertone as he and Harry waited for the picture to develop, "it's a camera for instant  _moving_  pictures. I asked George to modify this one; it made a great Christmas gift. I put a new moving picture on Colin's grave every Sunday; I know he'd have liked that."

Harry remembered Colin well, and knew he would have liked such a camera. He still recalled the gap-toothed and cheerful boy snapping photographs nonstop during his time at Hogwarts. Harry was glad to see Dennis was carrying on after the death of his brother at the Battle of Hogwarts. Sometimes it was nice to see that the scars did heal somewhat. But Harry knew better than anyone that scars could still hurt sometimes.

Eventually, Harry found Dudley, who was standing a little distance away and conversing with Hannah, and soon enough they were all crossing back through to the Muggle side of King's Cross Station, while Dudley mumbled words of amazement under his breath. As they exited the building, Harry looked up one last time at the arched glass ceiling and the towering brick pillars, remembering when he'd seen this station last. It had been in his mind, when he'd had his conversation with Dumbledore after his death. His brain must have picked it out as a place of comfort, change, and excitement to help him cope with the fact that he had just died. And Harry knew why; all those years later, after sending James off today, this place still resonated as his first confirmation that life could get better. That hope was present as he'd left his life at the Dursleys, after he had discovered he could return from death and save his friends for good, and after he knew he would take his own children to that platform someday. It was still present now, as he imagined his son wrestling a chocolate frog around the train compartment to the sound of Amelia's tinkling laughter.

Harry said none of this to Dudley, who seemed to have taken no notice of the nostalgic look on his cousin's face. Dudley was too busy making his way through the packed London streets, avoiding people exiting from the nearby Underground station. The two cousins walked in single file for a few minutes, as the sidewalk was too clogged to walk beside each other. Finally, the foot-traffic that surrounded the station on a busy morning like this one petered out, and Harry spotted a sleepy pub tucked away on the corner ahead. They would need somewhere quiet to talk, and when Harry suggested this place, Dudley agreed wholeheartedly. They spotted a nice table by the latched window, thanking their luck that the place was relatively empty, save a doughy old woman slurping soup in a booth across the room.

Having seated themselves at the glossy wooden table, the cousins made furtive glances at each other over the menus, daring the other to speak first. This was always the problem with Dudley, Harry thought; he always fluctuated between fearful and curious, but never predictably. Harry never knew what to talk about with him; anything magic-related could either intrigue or petrify his cousin, but Harry had been out of the Muggle world for too long to know anything Dudley might be interested in. Albus was Harry's best link to the modern Muggle world and its workings because of his love for Muggle books and magazines, but Albus talked almost exclusively of iPods, so Harry's knowledge of Muggle life was therefore limited.

"So…" Harry let the word slip from his mouth out of desperation for conversation. It hung there like a limp outstretched hand while Dudley diligently contemplated the menu. Harry tried again.

"So, why did you want to go to lunch? It's not really something we  _do_ ," he said.

Dudley closed the menu, but stared down at his hands. "I wanted to ask you about something."

Harry folded his own menu, and traced the rim of his glass of water. "What?"

"I wanted to ask you about your life at Hogwarts. Now that Amelia's going there, it made me think about how little I know. About your life. And Amelia kept asking me questions; she was reading some book about you and she kept asking me how to pronounce words, what things meant, who certain people were. And that's when I felt like I should know the truth about you. Because I had quite a job explaining to her that I really had no idea."

Harry sat there for a long time in quiet contemplation. The waitress even took their orders and was long gone by the time Harry spoke again.

"Are you sure you want to know? It's a pretty dark story, Dudley, and I know how you feel about magic. About me."

"Don't be so sure," Dudley snapped. "I've gotten  _so_  much better over the past few weeks. I have a responsibility to care for Amelia. And part of that involves knowing who and what you are, to the fullest extent," he said stubbornly.

Harry took a deep breath. He knew he was going to need to tell Dudley, but didn't want to do it in such a public place. He was about to protest, but seeing his cousin slouching with his bulky arms crossed made him sigh. Reluctantly, Harry cast a nonverbal Scrambling Charm around their table, one he'd learned from his many missions with the Ministry. To anyone else, their conversation would make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Assured that the charm would conceal his secrets, he opened his mouth to speak, gathering the courage to tell a story he had not recounted aloud in years. Not once, since that night in Xenophilius Lovegood's sitting room, when he'd been surrounded by lit candles, Luna, Rolf, and Xenophilius (and his marvelously large ear trumpet). It was a strange thing to be sharing the details of his life with Dudley now, who was almost as good as a stranger. But Luna's words to him that night so many years ago bubbled to the surface of his mind when he hesitated to retell his past. "Share your story with everyone. Because it's a story worth telling," she had said.

So Harry began with the first day things changed. He started with that day his first letter came.

Dudley remained impassive and somewhat fearful as Harry summarized how he'd discovered who he really was (he skimmed over the parts with Hagrid and his ghastly pink umbrella, of course), and how he had met Ron and Hermione on the train to Hogwarts. He explained their exploits in the castle their first year, and briefly described the multitude of adventures that had led to Harry acquiring the Philosopher's Stone and protecting it from Voldemort.

Their food arrived precisely as Harry had started to tell the tale of the man with two faces. Dudley seemed to be more genuinely interested in the story at this point, but perhaps looked a little queasy as he examined his chicken. By the time Harry reached a point (after the conclusion of his first year) where he could pause and tuck in to his own roast, Dudley was gazing at him with a mixture between disbelief and dazzlingly impressed.

"How do I know that everything you just told me isn't made up?" he said obstinately.

"It's magic, Dudley," Harry frowned, a little annoyed. "Muggles think magic as a whole is made up anyway."

Dudley gave him a wiggle of his eyebrows, looking ruffled.

"Do you want me to continue, or not?" Harry said through a mouthful of potatoes.

Dudley sighed, as if reluctant to hear more, but his eyes had a certain gleam of curiosity Harry was sure hadn't been there before.

He told the story of his second year at Hogwarts; about the petrification of his classmates, and about the appearance of the first of many evil objects left behind by Voldemort as ways to tether him to life. As Harry spoke, Dudley interrupted every now and then with objections –"They let  _all_  that stuff happen in a school?"—and shudders of horror. At one point, Dudley even whispered, "If I'd been you, I would have never followed the spiders."

Harry knew his cousin was beginning to see him from a different perspective. Gone was the bony, bullied twerp who wore Dudley's old clothes; in his place was a troublemaking rogue in an invisibility cloak with enough stories of trouble, treasure, and friendship to fill ten storybooks. There was so much more to Harry than his past at the Dursleys, and Dudley was finally beginning to see that. Harry liked the thought of this so much that he even described his battle with Salazar Slytherin's monster in greater detail than he'd originally planned, relishing the now-unmistakable look of amazement on Dudley's face when he explained how the poisoned fang had pierced his arm.

"But how is that possible? I mean,  _phoenix tears_ helped you survive? Really?" Dudley blinked skeptically when the story of Harry's second year had been completed. "Show me the scar," he demanded with raised eyebrows.

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Fawkes healed the wound; there is no scar, Dudley."

"Oh."

Harry took advantage of the gap of silence that followed to take a few more bites of his meal, which by now was tepid at best. When he looked up, still chewing, he saw that Dudley was still staring at him, his thick fingers interlaced and propping his chin up in a pose of alert attention.

"What happened next?" Dudley asked, doing a moderate job of concealing his curiosity. Harry felt himself smile as he considered his Yorkshire pudding.

"You'll like this bit," he said. "It's got a lot to do with a map, my dad, and a werewolf. Do you remember my godfather, the convicted mass-murderer?"

Dudley gulped.

Harry talked for what felt like hours, and Dudley listened obediently. However, compressing his life into the length of a long lunch was nowhere near possible, and to prove this point, Harry had only just begun describing the Quidditch World Cup when Dudley's eyes began to become rather fixed and glazed.

"Are you overwhelmed yet?" Harry asked, and there was a pause. Dudley seemed to be at war with himself, thinking very hard. This expression was something Harry had never seen on his cousin's face before, and he quelled the laughter that was rising in his lungs like warm air.

"Probably," said Dudley.

"This might be a good place for me to stop, then," Harry said, and swallowed some water gratefully. Dudley didn't protest, and waved the waitress over to pay the bill. Harry disassembled the Scrambling Charm and politely pulled some Muggle money from his pocket. As the waitress walked away, he felt his gaze turn to the window. What he saw outside gave him a sincere shock: a brown and black shape was flying straight at them, and Harry recognized it immediately. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose from his seat and unfastened the latch. He pulled hard, and the pane swung inward with a groan and a shower of dust.

Dudley gave a surprised gasp. "Is that-"

But he never finished his sentence. With a dull thump, a familiar owl plummeted through the open window and onto the polished table. Hatherley righted himself after a moment, his feathers ruffled and a few sticking out at odd angles. He looked distinctly harassed, and nibbled at Harry's finger impatiently.

"James has some serious explaining to do," Harry said darkly, and the waitress behind him gave a high-pitched scream.


	9. After the Train: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something wicked this way comes.

In retrospect, they never should have opened the window.

But from the moment they boarded the train, Amelia, James, and Bridget were almost giddy with happiness, eager to feel the winds of escape whipping across their faces as they rolled along to their destination. James pulled open the window frame, and the compartment was instantly been filled with the warm summer breeze, the tangy tinge of autumn just starting to creep into the scent of honey and freshly mown grass.

Amelia was the first to laugh in excitement, reveling in the joy of being with her two friends. Bridget soon joined in, pressing her head against the seat back so that her short hair stuck up behind her like a spiky auburn crown. Her blue eyes held a daring spark, which James returned from his lounging position next to the window. In that moment, Amelia felt somewhat as though she was in a dream. Here she was, on her way to magic school with two of her best friends. It sounded so strange in her mind, and saying it out loud would have seemed like she was sharing a secret. The three of them sat in blissful contentment for a few more minutes, and then Bridget was the first one to move. She rummaged in a small brown handbag, and pulled out her new wand. She examined it as though she had never seen one before.

"So weird, these things," she said with a tone somewhere between amazement and curiosity. James flicked his eyes up in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'd never seen one before coming here. I mean, at Cygnets, we weren't allowed to have one."

"What's Cygnets?" Amelia asked, sitting up in keen interest.

"It was the magic school I went to. In Salem."

"Magic school?" James looked incredulous. "But you've only just turned eleven!"

Bridget smiled, and Amelia thought she even looked a little smug. "Well, in America we start a year earlier."

James looked insanely jealous, and seemed prepared to splutter in outrage. But Bridget simply smiled and said, "It was really only some theory. History of magic, intonations, runes, some basic divination. We weren't allowed wands, so we didn't do any charmwork. Honestly, I'd say it was dull."

"Still, you must know all about magic then. I bet you'll get top marks first year," James said sulkily.

"James, I'm from Muggle parents too—I've already told you. I've only had a year to learn about magic, and you've had your whole life. I'll probably be so far behind."

"You'll be further ahead than me," Amelia pointed out brightly. "I don't know anything about magic, regardless of which country it's from."

"It really doesn't matter much, Amelia. They explain things really well at Hogwarts, and you've already read tons of books," James said.

"Besides, who knows? I'm starting over at a new school anyway. I'll have to work to catch up on all your English slang. That's just as important as magical theory, I think; otherwise I won't be able to understand you all," Bridget said jokingly.

James tilted his head. "Why'd you leave? Why come to Hogwarts if you were already at Cygnets?"

Bridget seemed strangely unprepared to answer this question, and she badly hid an expression of discomfort with a laugh. "Salem was boring," was all she said. "Come off it," James scoffed, but Amelia knew a bad conversation topic when she saw one, so she nudged James' foot with her own and they left the matter alone.

They sat in silence, contemplating the landscape outside as it became wilder and wilder. Then Amelia, who was quite a lot like her overly-worried mother, had a panic attack about half an hour later, and had to take everything out of her trunk to make sure that her robes were safely stowed inside. "I can never be too sure," she said as she sifted through her socks from her kneeling position on the floor of the compartment. She rolled her eyes as James and Bridget snickered from behind her.

Amelia couldn't help but notice all the cracks on the floor as she knelt there; it looked as though the compartment floor had once been broken into many pieces, and then stitched back together. It was smooth to her touch, but the tiny cracks were dark, like black veins on the white tiles. Once everything was packed up again, Amelia moved back to her seat beside James, still eying the cracks. She remembered James had once told her all about how there'd been damage done to the school during the Battle of Hogwarts. Perhaps the train had been caught up in the battle too, and then had been magically fixed up. But the scars still showed in some places. It had been a large scale war, as Amelia had learned from The Tales of Hogwarts, but now that she saw how extensive it was, she wondered what kind of evil could really do that much damage. She shivered, even though the compartment was still pleasantly warm.

By mid-afternoon, however, Amelia had forgotten about the cracks. The trolley came through, with a jolly, plump, older woman pushing it from behind.

"Anything from the cart?"

Bridget and Amelia leapt to their feet, having been told stories by James of marvelous sweets and the most scrumptious pasties. The food was not the Muggle sort Amelia was accustomed to, and she was yearning to try anything and everything. In the end, Bridget purchased a licorice wand and a few pumpkin pasties, James had three small boxes of Chocolate Frogs ("Oh, yes, they move, all right," the trolley woman had chuckled throatily when Bridget asked), and Amelia had neatly stacked a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans on top of a Janus' Moon-Shaped Marble Cake ("Two Sided Treat with Real Stardust Mixed In!"). James eyed the cake with apprehension, apparently having never seen it before. "It must be a new brand," he said, but refused to try a bite. "I'm not eating anything with stardust in it," he said warily, and made Amelia describe it to him instead. "It tastes like anise on one side, and vanilla on the other," she said through a mouthful, "You're sure you don't want some?" James shook his head and turned his attention to his first chocolate frog, which was simultaneously squirming and melting in his hand. Bridget gave a little giggle as great fat drops of chocolate dripped onto the card that lay in the packaging. The irritated-looking face of Sirius Black, Member of the Order of the Phoenix, looked out at them as he attempted to wipe off some of the drops with his tiny sleeves.

Once they had eaten, everyone felt rather sluggish and took to staring out the window at the landscape again. The long grasses and distant trees were now lit up with mid-afternoon light that made the shadows long and the wind coming through the window luxuriously warm.

After a quarter of an hour had passed, Amelia probably would have fallen asleep, had Scorpius Malfoy not chosen that precise moment to burst through the apartment door, gasping as though out of breath, and lock the door behind him.

James, Amelia, and Bridget all jumped at the arrival of the blond boy, but he hadn't noticed them yet; his back was still to them, and he was peering out the compartment glass door as if waiting to see if whatever was chasing him had passed. After a moment, Scorpius seemed to come to his senses and turned around slowly. When he saw whose compartment he'd barged into, he cursed mildly and shoved his hands into his black trouser pockets.

James stood up, and there was a tense silence. Scoripus seemed to be debating whether whatever had driven him into their compartment in the first place was worth facing instead of James, who appeared to be very angry. Clearly James hadn't forgotten the incident at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and Amelia was glad she was not the only one who had felt a rush of hatred for the boy who'd made her vomit into a trick cauldron just for a laugh.

"What are you doing in here?" James asked, but he was promptly ignored.

"Are they gone?" Scoripus peered nervously back out the compartment glass over his thin shoulder, as if expecting to see a hulking monster on the other side of the door.

"Who are you talking about?" asked Bridget, who was still holding her licorice wand as if prepared to brandish it like a weapon.

"Paschal Zabini and Kenny Flint. They were in a compartment with me, but I think I said something that offended them and now they're after me. They'll hex me if they get the chance."

"I wouldn't count on it, neither of them has enough brain power," James said snidely. Scorpius looked somewhat amused, but concealed it hastily. "Believe me, if I hadn't been desperate for a place to hide, I wouldn't have come in here at all," he said, glancing darkly at Amelia. The light above them flickered on and off, as if to punctuate his remark.

"Well, you're here now, so you might as well sit down." Amelia said, and she stared at Scorpius, daring him to protest and leave the compartment. But after a moment, he reluctantly sat down beside Bridget, straightening the sleeves of his black shirt.

"I'm sorry," he said. James snorted.

"Really," Scorpius insisted. "I shouldn't have been so mean that day in Diagon Alley. I just, well, I'm not great with people, and I honestly just did it for a laugh. I didn't mean for it to get so out of control; I saw Skeeter's article, she took it way too far," he added, but his eyes were focused on the cracked floor.

"Well, that's all very nice and all, but  _I_  don't believe you," Bridget said coldly, crossing her arms. Amelia copied her with vengeful enthusiasm.

"Why not?" Scorpius looked indignant.

"Well, the only reason you'd apologize to people you don't like is because you need something from them."

Scorpius looked down at the floor. Amelia added, "Clearly the people you were hoping to make friends with have just decided to chase you around on a train and attempt to curse you, so you're looking for a way to save face now that you're stuck in a compartment with us." She flicked an eyebrow up to punctuate this. Scorpius looked uncomfortable, and his pallid face darkened slightly.

"All right, yeah," he said in a low voice. "But I did apologize," he said hopefully. James rolled his eyes. There was a quiet moment where Amelia wasn't sure whether Scorpius was going to leave the compartment or argue with him. But then he stood and peered out the open train window as if he saw something approaching. He spoke very slowly and quietly, but there was an edge of nervousness to his voice.

"I think we should close the window. Right now."

"Why?" Bridget asked, but Amelia saw what he meant first. Something like a small black cloud, with the consistency of ink dropped in water, was amassing just outside the open window. The sunlight seemed to have no effect on it; it merely bounced off and the cloud stayed dark, opaque, and ominous. James lifted his hand to close the window, but it was too late. The darkness spilled fluidly over into the compartment like dry ice being dumped out of a canister. It hovered beside James for a moment, and then slid to the floor, stretching out like a tendril of chalkboard-colored smoke. After a moment, it appeared to reach a rolling boil as it flowed across the cracked floor. Bridget let out a shriek, and buried her head in her hands. Scorpius froze as the smoke curled around his ankles, and his face became nearly translucent.

"What is  _that_?" Amelia whispered in terror, but no one could answer; James had drawn his legs up to his chest, and tucked his chin in the space between his knees.

The smoke floated there for a while, apparently innocuously, and then sank through the floor and vanished. At that moment, the lights in the compartment went out, and even the sunlight outside seemed to momentarily darken. There was a marvelous lurch as the train cars seemed to tremble, and Hatherley's cage fell to the floor and broke apart into two curved halves. The owl gave a deafening screech and spread his wings in fright. James made to grab for him, but before he could reach, the owl had leapt from the open window and let the gusts carry him into the turquoise sky. Arthur, who had been dozing beside Hatherley's cage, leapt to his feet with a yowl and raced to the spot between Amelia's feet.

There was a popping sound in Amelia's ears. Scorpius collapsed onto the ground, with his head bouncing against the cloth seat as he fell and one of his arms splayed across his face. James had turned very white, and Bridget was still frozen, so Amelia found she was the only one with the capacity to get up and see if Scorpius was all right. The sunlight seemed to brighten a bit as she rose shakily to her feet, and she could make out his silhouetted figure. As Scorpius stirred, he made a muffled coughing sound and reached upward to Amelia. She grabbed his outstretched hand and pulled him into a reclining position with his back propped against the wall of the seat and his legs stretched out across the tile. His head lolled onto the lip of the seat behind him.

"W-what happened?" he asked weakly, but Amelia was at a loss for words. No one else appeared to have an answer, and before anyone could come up with anything to say, the door to their compartment slid open violently. A tall fifth-year boy with pearly white hair and grey eyes stood there, a Prefect's badge gleaming on the breast of his billowing Hogwarts robes. He looked extremely out of breath, and the shadows brought out the dark crescents under his eyes.

"Did you see it too?" he asked abruptly, in an authoritative voice.

"See what?" James asked after a moment. Bridget lifted her head, and tear tracks gleamed on her cheeks. The boy considered her curiously for a moment, and then continued. "Did you see what made the lights go out? They went out all down the train, but from the Prefects' compartment I saw something like smoke come through your window." Amelia nodded slowly, but the boy was no longer looking at her; he had turned his attention to Scorpius, who was still sitting on the floor. "Are you all right?" he asked suddenly, and Scorpius shuddered visibly in response, his eyes closed.

"It'll be about half an hour before we get to Hogsmeade Station," said the boy with concern. "He's going to have to make it until then, I'm afraid. Professor Suresh is contacting the Headmistress as I speak. I'll stay with him," he gestured to Scorpius. "But you lot should go get changed."

Bridget left without another word, and clutched her folded robes to her tear-covered face as she walked out of the compartment. James and Amelia exchanged a serious look as they gathered their clothes. Amelia didn't have to understand magic to know something strange and terrible had just occurred; even James seemed rather shaken, and Amelia had begun to consider him the bravest of them. As they walked to the lavatories to change, they fumbled their way through the darkened passage, now and then bumping into prefects who were patrolling the corridor. There was boisterous conversation from nearly every compartment they passed; everyone seemed to be curious and full of fear and adrenaline. Amelia felt strangely calm now, as though something in her had become steel and was ready for anything. Perhaps she was in shock?

She gripped her clothes in her cold hands and hoped there was a perfectly good explanation to whatever had happened. With a pang of dread, she wondered if the school would have to close, if they'd all be sent home. Maybe she wasn't meant to go to Hogwarts after all. She swallowed hard, and shook the thought from her mind as she put on her robes for the first time. As she folded her Muggle clothes, her Cloner fell out of her pocket and clattered onto the floor. She'd forgotten she'd had it in the first place; but on strange impulse, she placed it in the pocket of her new robes. Given what had just happened, she never knew when George Weasley's gift could come in handy.

When Amelia returned to the compartment, James was already back. Bridget sat with her head against the window, which was now closed, staring despondently at the sky as it darkened into early evening. She had Arthur fast asleep in her lap, and was stroking the place between his black ears absent-mindedly. Scorpius seemed to have recovered slightly, and was conversing quietly with the prefect, whose name turned out to be Bradley McKinnon.

"He's all right, he just fainted is all," Bradley said reassuringly when Amelia entered. She nodded curtly, and walked to the end of the seat to sit across from Bridget. James moved a little to make room for her, muttering, "It's too bad he fainted all on his own accord, I was hoping to slip him a Fainting Fancy." Amelia quelled a smile that she knew would have been indecent for the situation at hand. She instead turned her attention to Bridget, and James shifted in his seat toward Bradley to discuss the unknown fate of Hatherley.

"What's wrong? I know there's something, don't deny it," Amelia said, and Bridget turned her brilliant blue eyes toward her friend. Bridget took a long time to answer, and when she did, Amelia felt a melting, oppressive sensation in her stomach.

"Well," Bridget whispered as she fidgeted with the sleeves of her black robes, "I've seen that cloud before. And the last time I saw it was the night my parents decided to send me here."

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said slowly. "But if it's the same cloud, and it's followed me to Hogwarts, horrible things are yet to come. Amelia, I'm scared."

Amelia looked out the window, observing the blending of the shadows and the darkness.  _What have I gotten myself into?_  she wondered, and her heartbeat began to race in keeping with the grinding wheels of the train.

"So am I," she whispered, and her mouth set into a long fine line.


	10. Epistles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorting things out.

The news that Scorpius Malfoy was in the hospital wing reached Harry Potter before he knew about his own son's frightening experience on the Hogwarts Express.

After Harry and his family had parted ways with Dudley, they made the journey home with one more life in tow; Hatherley remained firmly perched on Harry's shoulder until they reached the lovely cottage where the Potters lived, at which point he leapt off gracefully and returned to his post in the backyard garden.

Ginny wanted to write James a howler immediately, but Harry interceded, wanting to hear James make his case before they sent him a shouting letter. Embarrassment to that degree, as Harry remembered well when Ron had received one in their second year, could be extremely polarizing. It may not be wise to humiliate James to that extent unless he truly deserved it. Although, Harry shuddered to think what deeds could possibly constitute a howler; images of James swimming with merpeople or getting into a foulmouthed argument with Peeves came to mind.

That evening, the Potters had an early dinner. The sun hadn't even set as they sat down together, only to be interrupted by a terrible screech as a gigantic and regal black owl with a bluish sheen to its feathers plummeted through the open kitchen window and landed in Albus' roast. After shaking bits of potato off of his feathers, the owl clambered across the table to Harry and held out his right foot, where a silver-embossed letter was tied with a lacy string.

Albus turned his nose up at his food, which was now covered with owl footsteps, but no one was eating anyway. Everyone remained focused on the letter in Harry's hands. However, their rapt attention was not due to the shock of receiving owl post at dinnertime. Disruptions and flying birds on the same table as their meals were things wizarding families were accustomed to. What shocked the Potters most was the letter itself-it was from Draco Malfoy.

A gigantic family crest was embossed on the front of the letter. Harry disliked the use of crests; it was a method of distinguishing wizard hierarchy, and it still tended to be a tense subject at the Ministry. But Draco Malfoy was a proud traditionalist, and even his stationary still bore a serpent in glittering silver with glinting green eyes. These eyes stared calmly into Harry's as he flipped the note open, and read the scrawl within.

_Harry Potter,_

_When I heard James was going to Hogwarts with Scorpius, I wasn't necessarily pleased. I didn't think they would become friends, especially since I know you and I are still getting past our differences. But something has arisen that perplexes me._

_Your son, James, seems to have exactly the same magnetic pull to trouble as you. I'm sure McGonagall will explain in more detail when she writes to both of us, but something attacked the boys on the train this afternoon, and Scorpius spent the evening in the hospital wing; he hasn't even been Sorted into a house yet, to my knowledge._ _They seem to have postponed the Sorting for some reason._

_When I was contacted about Scorpius' improving condition by the infirmary staff, I hardly expected the letter to mention James as one of his visitors. I must keep my surprise in check and administer my gratitude._

_If you hear any more news, please notify me at once. Celsus knows where to find me._

_Draco Malfoy_

Harry made a noise in the back of his throat after reading the letter. He rose from the table at once, passed the letter to Ginny with a scowl, and shushed Albus and Lily as they began to ask questions. Harry walked to the kitchen counter, pulled a quill, some ink, and a piece of blank parchment from a drawer, and wrote a hasty letter. Then, he fetched Hatherley from outside, and within minutes a letter from Harry Potter was in flight, aiming for the destination of Minerva McGonagall's office at Hogwarts. Surely she would have had an explanation.

As Hatherley disappeared into the sunset, Harry grimaced. What sort of trouble could James possibly be in now? Not much could attack the Hogwarts Express while it was in motion. His heart quickened, and his thoughts strayed to dementors, Death Eaters, Volde-

"That horrid little-" Ginny exclaimed from behind him, and he whirled around with a start. Ginny took notice of Albus and Lily's startled faces, and amended her outburst. "…imp," she finished, and Harry gave her a tiny grin. "His tone makes it sound like he's shocked James isn't some sort of animal," Ginny continued with a wrinkled nose. "' _I must keep my surprise in check and administer my gratitude'_ …that idiot," she rolled her eyes.

"Well, I'm glad you noticed his  _tone_ ; I was too busy worrying about the fact that our son was in danger," Harry said dryly.

"Well, James wasn't hurt; he was just there at the wrong time."

"That could have been said for almost all of my troublemaking too, you know."

Ginny looked amused. "You got into far worse trouble," she reminded him.

"But this was his first  _day_ , Ginny. And what could possibly attack a moving train?"

Ginny paused, and glanced at Lily and Albus, both of whom were looking grave and wide-eyed. "Everything's fine," she assured them, "James just got in a bind on the train." Lily made a face of disapproval, and Harry thought that in that moment, she looked just like Ginny. Albus, however, gave a lopsided smile and said, "Awesome!" under his breath. No doubt he was expecting an owl to bring home a handwritten epic that detailed James' ordeal. Celsus regarded Albus with a severe condescension, hooted softly, and then nibbled at a piece of potato that had been dislodged from the plate. Without hesitation, Harry plucked the prideful owl from his reign at the center of the table and chucked him out into the garden a little fiercely. Ginny noticed and smiled, but said nothing.

They attempted to finish dinner in peace, but Harry was too worried to eat much. He and Ginny held hands under the table, and she kept squeezing his to make sure he was okay. When Lily and Albus had been excused to go play Exploding Snap, their parents walked into the garden, watching the stars get pinned into mysterious patterns. They were both scanning the sky for an owl from McGonagall, but nothing came.

By the time the Hogwarts feast would have been long over, Harry and Ginny decided to go to bed, entrusting that James would be all right. All sorted, and Sorted too.

As they walked back into the house, Celsus hooted disdainfully at them from his lofty perch on the nearest tree branch. Harry rolled his eyes, shut the door behind him, locked it, and squinted out into the darkness, hoping to see the familiar double-fermata shape of an owl on the wing, but none came.

The next morning, Harry and Ginny were rudely awakened by Albus sprinting into their room in his midnight blue pajamas. He was clutching a letter with the Hogwarts crest, and a beautiful snowy owl that reminded Harry strongly of Hedwig was perched daintily on Albus' right arm.

"She just flew through my bedroom window. Gave me a fright," he said, his eyes shining with excitement.

Rubbing sleep nodes from the corners of their eyes, Ginny and Harry opened the letter together. It read,

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm pleased to hear from you, and I was expecting to. I am terribly sorry for the lateness of my letter._ _Yesterday was extremely hectic, as you may well imagine._ _However, as you probably now know, I need to inform you about the details of the attack on the Hogwarts Express._

_I must first tell you that James is alive and well, as well as his friends, Scorpius Malfoy, Bridget Jacobs, and also Amelia Dursley, with whom I believe you share a familial bond. The circumstances of the attack are still unclear, but it appears that some sort of spirit entered their compartment while they were on the train._ _Scorpius was the only one touched by the spirit, and he fainted from fright._ _No one was seriously harmed, although the situation has brought serious security protocol flaws to our attention._ _We believe the spirit's arrival was a fluke, although this has not been the first occurrence of this nature in the magical world._ _You may remember from your time abroad that other schools have recently encountered similar spirits, but their origin is still unknown._ _It may perhaps be a new magical creature, but it is not something I can explain at this time._

_Nevertheless, I must profusely apologize that I did not contact you with my usual urgency. If you will grant me time to explain, I shall do so._

_Last night, the matter concerning your son and his friends was brought to my attention, but another problem surfaced and needed to be addressed immediately._

_I'm sure rumors will leak out, so I will simply inform you now that one of our returning students attempted to be Sorted again last night; that is what interrupted me from my plans to write to you. This is a dangerous, serious offense, even though it was intended as a prank._ _The Sorting is a binding magical ceremony; much like the selection of contestants for the Triwizard Cup, as you undoubtedly remember from your time at Hogwarts._

_To attempt to be Sorted again is a breach in a magical contract, and if I had not been summoned to stop the student from going through with it, I shudder to think what might have happened. The student in question has been severely admonished for the prank, and our Sorting has been postponed until tomorrow. Needless to say, our annual welcoming feast was therefore somewhat more sobering for the students and staff._ _It required all of my faculties, and for that reason I was unable to respond to you last night._

_As a side note, Hatherley has taken up residence here at Hogwarts with the other owls. James has also been informed of this, much to his relief, I think._ _He seemed to be under the impression you'd be upset if he'd let Hatherley out of his cage._ _But no harm done now, I think._

_I know this is a long winded response, and appreciate that you have been patient enough to read it. Please let me know if there is anything more I can do._ _I am truly sorry to cause you stress and worry over James._ _He will be protected here at Hogwarts, as long as he doesn't seek out trouble._ _I'll keep a careful eye out; you know my methods._

_Good morning,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Harry put down the letter slowly, feeling simultaneously relieved and concerned. In that moment, he realized just how hard it was going to be to with James being so far away. If some sort of new spirit was afoot, was Hogwarts really safe? Harry wanted nothing more than to protect his children; to be the parent his parents didn't have the chance to be. And something else was bothering him, and he didn't even realize it until breakfast.

While the family was eating cereal and toast with marmalade, he suddenly stopped in the middle of chewing.

Who could possibly want to risk being Sorted twice for a prank? Who could possibly be that brave and that stupid?

Of course, one person did come to mind.


	11. The Sorting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the sorting hat's song!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did write a song for the hat.

The morning of September second came quickly for Amelia Dursley. Despite a long night at Bridget's bedside in the infirmary, she felt as though the time passed rapidly. The matron, Madam Pomfrey, had mainly hovered around Scorpius, who slipped easily between unconsciousness and staring quietly at the ceiling, which gave Bridget some well-deserved peace after the attack on the Hogwarts Express.

Bridget had still remained convinced that something sinister lurked just out of eyesight, and her paranoia had resulted in paroxysms of hyperventilation and trembling. It got to the point where she'd needed to be given a potent sleeping potion in order to get her to relax and calm down. After sipping the steaming white draught, Bridget had drifted into a serene sleep, but Amelia stayed awake, running over the events of the evening in her mind while sipping from a cold silver goblet full of pumpkin juice. Madam Pomfrey had also sent for food from the feast for them; two plates full of food arrived shortly, sported by the long, narrow hands of a tiny, wrinkled creature that James called a house-elf. Amelia and James took some food to be polite, but neither was particularly hungry. They nibbled a little on the pudding and chicken, but somehow it felt wrong to eat given the circumstances.

After leaving the train under the care of Professor Suresh, the charming and handsome Potions master, the group had been escorted directly to the infirmary. Later, Bradley McKinnon had strolled in with robes billowing to report that the Sorting ceremony had been postponed due to a "heinous" attempt of one returning student to be Sorted again. Apparently the Sorting Hat, angry at being mistreated, had outright refused to sort  _anyone_  that night and remained steadfast in its decision – "The Hat's a bit of a diva, I reckon," Bradley had said.

The faculty and staff were in uproar, and the attempted prank was now the talk of the school. The house-less first years would be spending the night in the Great Hall on makeshift cots after the dishes from the feast had been cleared. From his cross-legged position on an empty infirmary bed across from Bridget's, James had remarked that now everyone's attention would have been diverted from the four of them. Amelia had secretly wondered how often James received unwanted attention for his famous father, for he seemed quite relieved to be out of the limelight.

Bradley hadn't stayed for very long after telling them the news of the Sorting. He took their statements about the attack, but then had to leave; he had been asked to spend the night in the Great Hall with the first years. He promised to collect them in the morning for the Sorting, and then bade them a good night.

Secretly, Amelia was glad to have the Sorting postponed. It was nerve-wracking to let a ceremony tell you where you belonged; given all James had told her about Slytherin, she wasn't sure she wanted to end up there…especially if Scorpius was planning on being placed in that house. James seemed quite confident he would be in Gryffindor. If he felt any doubts, he did not show them, and merely smiled each time the ceremony was brought up.

Amelia wished she had confidence in where her place at Hogwarts lay. Being so new to the wizarding world was disconcerting, and Amelia partially felt as though she didn't deserve to be here in the first place, let alone be destined for great things in a certain Hogwarts house. Would she end up in Slytherin and have to endure Scorpius' company for years? Or would she be placed perhaps in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff? She mostly wanted to stay close to James, so that he could continue to teach her more about the world she was now part of. At the thought of being separated from her relative and friend, her stomach squirmed and protested each sip of pumpkin juice. It was times like this that she somewhat wished that her father were here to tell her everything would be all right. That she would fit in somewhere.

* * *

When dawn came, Bridget and Scorpius seemed to have recovered their strength and wits. The four of them were roused early in the morning and escorted by Bradley straight to the Great Hall. When they entered the giant room for the first time, Amelia was once again struck with wonder. The ceiling was the most beautiful shade of pink-sunrise with an intense blue background, and ribbons denoting all the house colors ran along the ceiling and fluttered delicately. The cots for the first years were long gone, and giant, gleaming wooden tables and benches stood in their places. Each table was set for breakfast, and students in black robes milled about in the aisles in preparation for the ceremony. All the first years were gathered at the front of the room, where a scrubbed wooden stool sat front and center. A grubby, old, and wrinkled hat with a point that drooped to one side sat upon it, just as James had told her it would. James had explained the ceremony to Amelia during one of their days at his house that summer, but now, Amelia wasn't sure that knowing what was going to happen would make her feel any better.

As they reached the front of the room, she was able to get a better glimpse of the raised platform to her left. A solitary long table stood there, with places set for the teachers of Hogwarts. Professor Suresh winked at them cheerfully from his seat in the far right corner, and a giant, oafish man twice his size sat beside him. The giant man brushed a grizzled strip of frizzy hair from his face with a hand the size of a dustbin lid, then waved at James genially. James responded in kind.

"That's Hagrid, the groundskeeper," he whispered to Amelia. "He's a family friend-you've got to come with me to tea with him sometime. Dad says he's loads of fun. Oh, and look," he pointed, "there's Professor Longbottom. He's a friend of Dad's too. They fought in the Battle of Hogwarts together. He teaches Herbology."

Amelia followed James' gesture and saw a tall man with dark hair and a round face standing to the left of the Headmistress' chair. He was smiling vacantly, but his eyes were grim and forlorn, as though he'd seen terrible trouble. His hands were currently rummaging through his robe pockets, as though he was looking for something he appeared to have lost. Finally, after a few panicked moments, he seemed to relax as he pulled out his wand from a trouser pocket and set it beside his fork.

Many of the seats were filling up with other professors now, and an aged woman with a tight, gray bun, thick glasses, and pressed lips took her place at the Headmistress' position. Amelia assumed this must be Headmistress McGonagall. She remained standing, and tapped a spoon against her goblet until the chiming sound silenced the Great Hall.

"Good morning. I trust you all slept well. Before we begin breakfast this morning, we will be Sorting our first years into their houses. Please welcome them as you would any other member of your house family, for they will be joining you in your classes and activities. This is also another reminder that pranks regarding the ceremony will never be tolerated. After what happened last night, please know that shenanigans of this nature have dire consequences-keep in mind that Gryffindor now has negative House Points. I request that you honor the Sorting and give the hat the respect it deserves. Thank you."

The Gryffindors all lowered their heads in disgrace, except a beautiful girl with silvery-blond hair sitting at the very far end of the table, who blushed scarlet.

With her words still echoing around the room, McGonagall walked to the hat, and caressed it as if it were a beloved pet. Immediately, the hat jumped to life. Despite expecting it, James and Amelia gasped, as did most of the first years. Scorpius scoffed and started to whisper something in Bridget's ear, but was interrupted as the hat began to sing.

"Don't judge books by their covers,

Don't judge hats by their seams,

For more value lies within us

Than what others plainly see.

I judge each person's mind instead;

I find their strengths and flaws,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And nothing makes me pause.

So set me down upon your head

And let me search and roam

To see your character and heart

And help you find your home.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where daring acts become great feats,

Their chivalry and bravery are traits

That nothing seems to beat.

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where loyalty is prime,

Their justice and their patience

Will be valued anytime.

Perhaps you're meant for Ravenclaw,

Where wit and wisdom rule,

And minds are just as useful

As any kind of tool.

Or maybe you're for Slytherin,

Where achievements meet no foil,

And friends are aptly cunning

In any kind of toil.

So don't wait, don't hesitate

To find out where you belong,

And honor each and every house

Each time you hear my song."

The last notes of the Sorting Hat's song rang out over the Great Hall and hung there, unspoiled, for several moments. McGonagall then drew a piece of smooth parchment from her robes and unfolded it. She began to read aloud names, beginning with "Abbot, Kelley" and proceeding alphabetically. Each student sat on the wobbly stool, put the floppy hat on their heads, and after a few moments, the hat would shout out the name of one of each of the four houses. Kelley Abbot became the first Hufflepuff, and the ceremony had then begun.

After two more names had been called, McGonagall said, "Bishops, Bridget," and Amelia saw her friend walk timidly across the room. Bridget turned a pasty white color as she sat on the stool with the hat over her short hair. There was a short pause as the hat considered her for a moment, but then it yelled out, "RAVENCLAW!" and the table under the blue and bronze ribbons cheered loudly. Bridget cast a hesitant glance toward Amelia and James, but then proceeded to the table to join her new house.

Amelia didn't have long to wait until her own name was called. In fact, there was only one name between her and Bridget (Cutler, Quinn, Hufflepuff). "Dursley, Amelia" came far too quickly for Amelia to get any more nervous, but she still made her way to the stool on jelly legs. The hat was placed on her head and suddenly she couldn't see. The hat sank so low on her forehead that the brim grazed the bridge of her nose. All was quiet for a moment, but then a soft voice brushed against her ears.

"Well now, this is interesting. A habit of eavesdropping, excellent for causing moderate trouble…and unbridled passion for proving your worth. I've seen that before...hmm. What else? An unbalanced mind for good judgment, yes, of course…and you'll always make the right decision in the end, if you're brave enough. You have a great talent for making friends, yet a fear of losing them. You have other talents too, yet to be awakened. You could fit in any house and bring them great honor. But, since I must choose, I'd say your best fit would be…"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Amelia opened her eyes as the hat was lifted off her head. The last word rang out for all to hear, and the table with the gold and scarlet ribbons whooped and clapped. Amelia made her way to the table gratefully, and sat down amid two Gryffindors who had cleared a space for her. One of them was the prefect, Bradley McKinnon, and the other was a short, mousy boy who introduced himself as Will Creevey. From her new seat, Amelia saw Professor Dean Thomas raise his goblet in salute to her, and she smiled back.

The Sorting continued for some time before Amelia recognized another name. Scorpius Malfoy had just been called up, and he marched to the stool confidently, although, to Amelia, he seemed smallest bit nervous. The hat stayed on his head for an unusual amount of time. McGonagall twitched her piece of parchment nervously as she waited. The students had begun to stir nervously, but finally the hat shouted out the house Amelia was least expecting.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Dread sank into her stomach like lead, and she forced herself to smile as the boy who had made her vomit at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes joined her house. Luckily, James was called soon after, and no sooner had the hat touched his head did it call out, "GRYFFINDOR!" to Amelia's enormous relief. Will pumped his fist in the air, and the Gryffindor table erupted with cheers and yells. James blushed, but sat down beside Amelia with a jubilant grin.

"How about Scorpius, though?" James whispered in her ear. Amelia arched her eyebrows.

"His dad probably won't be pleased," James said. "The Malfoys have always been in Slytherin."

Amelia frowned, but somehow couldn't feel too sorry for him. She was too thrilled to be in the same house as James. Now that her nervousness had dissipated, she enjoyed the Sorting much more. By the end of the ceremony, when Paschal Zabini joined Slytherin House, many more first years had joined the Gryffindor table, including John Menton, Elise Finnegan, and Claire Perch, who, Amelia soon discovered, was a Muggle-born too.

Ghosts now glided into the Great Hall to join in the festivities as breakfast began, and announcements were made that every first year's luggage would be taken to their new rooms for them. Amelia hardly even noticed as Peeves the Poltergeist zoomed around the hall, singing parodies of the Sorting Hat's song and substituting the rhymes with lewd words. Her heart was too busy soaring up in the rafters on that enchanted ceiling, and for the first time she was able to look forward to what was surely going to be a great year at Hogwarts.


	12. The Ministries of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry visits with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone else is a Doctor Who fan, there's a small little reference in here if you can spot it. Enjoy!

Going to Austria had been a mistake. Harry realized that as soon as he'd returned from his business trip. Vienna was lovely during early October, but the Austrian Wizengamot were often argumentative, and Harry felt distinctly run down as he approached the hidden entrance to the Ministry of Magic the next morning. Having to discuss interminable Auror sanctions of this and that, having to always trust that his Translation Quill worked as George assured it would…all of it left Harry Potter wishing for a vacation.

Harry passed a blue police box, three parked cars, and a glassy store-front window, then finally stopped near a street corner and slipped inside a red telephone box that transported him to the lobby of the ministry. He contemplated what he'd find when he reached his office. Instead of a vacation, Quentin Wood, his assistant, had most definitely left a mountain of interdepartmental memos in a nicely stacked tower that loomed imposingly over Harry's desk. He'd have to sort through them all morning. At least this week, he would have company.

Hermione would be spending the week on Harry's floor of the ministry. Usually, she worked in the Department of Mysteries, restoring some of the broken Time Turners, or at her other office in the Department for Elf Rights and Protections. (Ron and George had had a laugh when they'd heard the name of the department for the first time. "D.E.R.P?" George had said with a smile, "It's almost as bad as S.P.E.W.")

But this week, Hermione had been tasked with studying how repairing Time Turners might affect wizard espionage and Auror duties. She would be interviewing various Aurors on Harry's floor, as well as several randomly selected witches and wizards, to get an idea of the dangers associated with allowing Time Turners to be used to capture dark wizards.

Hermione saw Harry from across the room when he walked into his office, and waved enthusiastically. He waved back with a wide smile, and then turned to face the mountain of memos he would need to deal with. He sighed in resignation, sat down in his chair, and dipped his quill in ink.

Around lunchtime, Harry finished responding to memos and briefing various Aurors about how the conference in Vienna had gone. He sighed in relief, put down his quill, and looked up. He wondered if Hermione would have a break so they could perhaps go to lunch at Felicis, the brand new potion-themed restaurant now situated on the first floor of the Ministry of Magic.

He saw Hermione was still sitting at her makeshift desk, her hair nearly twice as bushy as it had been this morning. It tended to expand when she was stressed.

She was finishing up an interview with a skinny, eccentric-looking man wearing a fez, and she seemed deep in thought. Harry decided to wait for her to finish, and absently packed his bag to prepare to leave. When he looked up again, the man was striding confidently out of the room and reaching into his pocket for his wand, and Hermione was trying to tame her frizzy hair once more. Harry walked over to her.

"Hi, Hermione," he said cheerfully.

"Harry!" She gave him a quick hug. "Congratulations! I heard about James getting sorted into Gryffindor. You must be thrilled!"

"I am," he said happily. "I'm excited for him to learn more about the school and its founders. I think he'll love learning about its secrets too."

"He's probably figured out half of the secret passageways by now. He's no doubt wandering around the school at night, just like you used to do," Hermione pointed out. Harry agreed with a tinge of worry, his mind drifting immediately to the invisibility cloak now in James' possession.

"Want to get some lunch?" Hermione asked.

"Absolutely."

They walked to Felicis slowly, eager to catch up on what was new. Rose had finally mastered the pronunciation and grammar of levitation spells about three weeks ago; Hermione was infinitely pleased that her daughter was already going to be ahead in her studies, even though Hogwarts was still a year out. Harry told Hermione all about the Sorting debacle at Hogwarts this year and about his suspicions about who had caused all the trouble. Hermione looked concerned, but seemed unsurprised.

"Leave it to a Gryffindor to make such a bold statement like that."

"Here I was, thinking we were the only ones who caused trouble at school," laughed Harry.

When they sat down in gold silk chairs at Felicis, Hermione changed the subject. She stirred her glass of pumpkin juice absently and asked, "How is Dudley doing?"

"He's managing, I think. We've been meeting up about every week to share letters we've gotten from James and Amelia. I think it makes him feel better to know she is doing all right. She's pretty glad to be in the same house as James. Although, Dudley –"

Harry began to grin, thinking of their last meeting at a Muggle coffee shop.

"—He asked me how he could get in touch with me when he couldn't find an owl. He's been trying to communicate with me the way wizards do. You know, trying to learn about our culture. So I told him to send me a pigeon. I mean, obviously I was kidding, but I don't think he realized that. The day after we'd met, this really confused, rumpled pigeon came waddling through one of our open windows at the house, and had this envelope from Dudley tied around its leg. It could hardly even fly."

Hermione suppressed a laugh with the back of her hand. "Oh, you shouldn't mess with him that way. You should get a mobile phone. Make an effort to learn about  _his_ culture, Harry."

He sighed. "All right. Besides, Albus would love it if I got a phone. I think he's fascinated with the idea of technology. He keeps talking to me about tablets and stuff, always asking questions about how magic affects Muggle technology. He wants there to be computers at Hogwarts."

Harry sipped his water. "I just don't understand why he likes computers so much. It's not like they're magic. He's grown up learning how to fly on brooms, yet he thinks a square with a fancy screen is impressive. But, I suppose I could give a mobile phone a shot. It's just sort of fun to kid around with Dudley every now and then. I think we're at the point in our relationship where he's not going to punch me anymore."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Harry. George still has a bruise from Dudley's fist."

"Ah. Right. Too easily I forget."

Hermione laughed.

When they had finished their lunch, Harry and Hermione walked back to the Auror office, discussing Time Turners and Hermione's progress. She would interview Harry probably in a few days. She was still conducting random witch and wizard interviews, which seemed to be taking a lot more time than she'd originally thought.

"A lot of people seem to think it would be a good idea to keep Time Turners out of the equation," she said. "They're worried about the magic tearing holes in time and reality. There could be a lot of really terrible side effects if people use them too frequently."

Harry nodded in understanding. He remembered all too well the time he and Hermione had rescued Sirius and Buckbeak the Hippogriff during Harry's third year. They'd only been able to do it by going back in time, and that night had been an emotional battlefield for Harry. For a few blissful moments, he'd been convinced his father had been there, and had cast a Patronus to save Harry from dementors. But it had actually been Harry. He'd seen his future self cast the charm.

And all at once, reuniting with his parents was once again only a wish.

His and Hermione's use of the Time Turner that night had been considered a success. But he shuddered to think what could happen if someone else used one and things went wrong.

"Maybe they're right. Maybe we shouldn't use them," Harry said as he opened the door to the office for her. "Regardless, I look forward to you interviewing me."

Hermione smiled. "All right. If I don't see you much until then, say hi to Ginny and the kids for me!"

"Will do. See you soon," Harry said, and he strode back to his desk, where a fresh memo sat waiting - the ink on it was still wet. He read the words quickly, ready to begin work on his next assignment. Apparently a wizard from Brooklyn had stolen three confiscated Cloners that fired dark spells at the utterance of a password. They'd been taken from an American Ministry of Magic warehouse in New York. Harry made a mental note to bring this up with George. The jokester's newest invention could potentially cause lots of international wizarding problems.

Harry twitched a quill between his fingers, and began to write a letter to Jamie Scott, the undersecretary to the American Minister of Magic, requesting to meet and discuss the acquisition of the Cloners and the thief. Harry felt confident that if he could get to New York and find out more information, he could take control of the situation.

This thief might have dark tendencies, but the man certainly wasn't Voldemort.


	13. Scorpius's Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius takes a chance.

The leaves had begun to fall at Hogwarts. After being at the school of witchcraft and wizardry for a month, Amelia felt she had finally settled into a rhythm. Every morning, she and James met in the Gryffindor common room to go down to breakfast in the Great Hall. While Amelia had been at first terrified of sharing a mealtime with the owl post (purely for hygienic reasons), she was finally warming to the idea. This was particularly due to the fact that Hatherley had taken to bringing both James' letters from home and letters from Amelia's father, since the Dursleys did not own an owl. News from her Muggle family was precious to her, despite the fact that James' letters always seemed to come rife with magical adventure. His letters were filled with even more hijinks than Hannah Dursley's most recent gossip about the neighbors' troublesome child, Kiefer, who was the same age as Amelia.

The best part about breakfast was that the old rule of sitting by house had been disbanded. At breakfast only, students were free to choose seats at will. Apparently this new rule had been hard won by someone in Gryffindor the past year – it had cost Gryffindor the House Cup as a result. When James asked Bradley McKinnon about the new rule, it became apparent that it was a bit of a sore subject, and James immediately left it alone. Amelia was nevertheless grateful, because it meant she was allowed to see Bridget, who would otherwise have had to sit at the Ravenclaw table.

Bridget seemed to be adjusting to Hogwarts well. She was somewhat ahead in History of Magic, but during breakfast she often lamented her poor charm-work. It reassured Amelia, who came from a Muggle background, that she was not the only one still worried about her scholarly inadequacies.

Bridget had also made a few good friends in her house, including a feisty black-haired witch named Carly Harrison, and a lanky redhead who Bridget and Carly only referred to as "Bean" for unknown reasons. Bean and Carly often joined Bridget at breakfast, so the five of them had all been able to become quite good friends – to the point that they would often study together in the library.

This week in particular, however, procrastination had gotten the better of them. Due to an unprecedented – and duly fascinating – surfacing of the giant squid near the shores of the Black Lake yesterday, no one had finished their homework the day before. This meant that this morning, over frantically gobbled plates of toast and bacon, Bridget and Bean were helping Amelia and James with one last Potions question, although, admittedly, they were all dreadful at the subject.

They were so busy with their studying that they hardly noticed when another boy sat down beside them. Amelia, however, felt her bench jostle as the newcomer took his seat, and looked up, distracted. It was Scorpius. Amelia immediately felt uncomfortable. She hadn't seen much of Scorpius over the past month. He'd kept mostly to himself, always passing through halls with the same bewildered, crestfallen expression on his face. Even his Gryffindor robes seemed more morose than anyone else's. Amelia wondered why he'd been put in Gryffindor at all – he seemed despondent without the green and silver Slytherin crest across his breast. Of course, Scorpius' sorting had probably been just as much of a shock to him as it had been for everyone else. Amelia felt a small swell of pity for him.

Scoripus typically ate breakfast with the Slytherins, who remained in the far corner underneath where the Slytherin banner hung. Seeing him sitting beside her was quite a surprise for Amelia, and she stared at him mutely, her eyes asking him an unsaid question.

Scorpius inclined his head slightly, and whispered in her ear.

"I found something I'd like you, Bridget, and James to see."

Amelia felt her eyebrows rise in skepticism. "What?"

"Just follow me. Please. I think it's important."

"Why?"

Scorpius just huffed and got up from the table. He twitched his head as if to say,  _follow me._

Amelia sat at her bench and watched Scorpius slowly walk down the aisle. She fought her curiosity, but it rose persistently in her stomach like an enthusiastic helium balloon.

She still had homework to do, but…

Five minutes later, Bridget, James, and Amelia were scurrying down the first floor corridor behind Scorpius. James was still holding his toast, and Bridget had tucked a quill behind her ear. They made their way into the entrance hall, which was comprised of vast, cracked stone slabs. They had all been shattered during the Battle of Hogwarts, as Amelia now knew, but they had been repaired and reset into the floor and walls with thick, black cracks between them. Scorpius stopped near the far wall, and knelt next to a dusty suit of armor and an ancient gray stone bench with carved initials all over it.

"Here," he said, and sat back on his ankles. The three of them stared at him in confusion. All that was there were a few cobwebs and a dark array of cracked floor tiles.

"Right. There's nothing here. I'm going to finish Potions," Amelia said irritably. She turned to go, but then Scorpius put up a hand.  _Wait._

He gripped the ends of one of the tiles with his long, bony fingers, and pulled upward with a grunt. The tile came off the floor at an angle, revealing a dark hole underneath. Bridget gasped.

"Did you just deface school property?"

"No," Scoripus sneered. "I found it like that."

"What's inside?" asked James quietly.

"That's what I wanted you guys to see."

Amelia leaned closer, and saw the indistinct outline of shapes that looked like a dozen pebbles, each the size of her palm. They were dark in color, but had a long white stripe down the middle.

"They're Cloners," James whispered, intrigued.

"Are you sure?" asked Bridget.

"I know a Cloner when I see one. Amelia has one. Even Uncle Ron has some. Albus and I used to steal them and practice dueling. At least, until Dad found out." James grimaced at the memory.

"Do they have passwords on them?" Amelia asked, thinking back to what George had told her about Cloners that day in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"No," said Scorpius. "I think someone's stockpiling them, but I don't know why."

"It's probably just another student looking to pull a prank," James said, shrugging.

"You're probably right," Scorpius agreed, and he placed the tile back over the hole.

They all followed James on the walk back to the Great Hall to finish breakfast, but Amelia saw Scorpius steal a suspicious glance back at the corner.

"How did you find those?" she asked him.

"I study there," he said. "It's quiet, and sometimes the suit of armor tells jokes. Yesterday I dropped one of my books on the ground, and when I reached to get it, I felt the tile edge and realized that it was coming out of the floor a little. So I opened it and found those stones."

"Scorpius, why did you show us that? I mean, what was the point?" Bridget asked as they claimed their previous seats in the hall. Bean and Carly had left to talk to some Hufflepuff first-years nearby.

Scorpius looked uncomfortable. "I…just thought someone should know. I found them yesterday and something about it just seemed off. I didn't want to get in trouble if I told a professor, but I figured you guys would listen. I don't really know anyone else."

James looked astounded at the admission, as if Scorpius had just confessed to being a professional ballerina. Scorpius seemed to realize how vulnerable he'd sounded, and his expression immediately became stiff and stoic. He cleared his throat and left abruptly to go sit with the other Slytherins.

The others exchanged a bewildered glance as they sat down next to their homework at the table.

"Was that…" Bridget began.

"…Scorpius trying to make friends?" James finished.

There was a very awkward pause.

"Well, what about the Cloners? Do we tell someone?" Bridget asked nervously.

"What's to tell? They can't really hurt anyone if they're buried under the floor," James said.

"Right," Amelia said slowly, but her eyes drifted back to Scorpius, who had been watching her silently from across the room. When they made eye contact, he turned around swiftly.

Amelia did not mention this to Bridget or James, for both were now hastily scribbling an answer to the last Potions question. She instead decided to join in, not wanting to turn in an incomplete assignment on the difference between asphodel and wormwood.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I need to finish getting ready for class," Bridget sighed as she gathered her books and stood. "Today I have double Potions with the Hufflepuffs. I need to make sure I'm perfectly coiffed to prepare for spending such a long time in the dungeons."

James stage-whispered, "Nah, she just fancies Professor Suresh."

"He's handsome," Bridget said defensively.

"Ugh. No one that teaches the odious subject of Potions is remotely attractive," James scoffed.

"Just watch - you'll teach Potions here someday and those words will forever haunt you," she retorted.

"Never going to happen," James smirked, and Amelia laughed.

With that, the three friends made their way out of the Great Hall to begin another autumn day full of promise.


	14. Dudley Asks Some Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Dudley have a heart to heart.

Harry Potter walked into a Muggle cafe just outside of Cornwall. It was a quaint, quiet place that was mostly empty on weekend afternoons.

Ginny had gone to Diagon Alley to pick up some spices that might go with all the gurdyroots Luna and Rolf had just sent over. The Potters had discovered that eating the atrocious roots with enough spices quelled the overpowering taste of gym socks, and they had therefore decided to eat them to please their friends.

Both Albus and Lily were accompanying their mother, since the children wanted to look in Flourish and Blott's for a few additions to the  _Mitch Maven: Undercover Wizard_  series.

This left Harry some time to meet with Dudley and catch up. Their coffee gatherings were more frequent now that James and Amelia had become friends. Despite almost daily correspondence from Amelia, Dudley seemed to miss his daughter very much, and seeing Harry helped ease his separation anxiety.

"It's really just me and Hannah now. It's so lonely. At least you've got Albus and Lily," Dudley had complained the last time they'd met. "But I'm glad she's got James there with her. She seems to be having a lot of fun." Amelia sent him letters often, sometimes with a tiny trinket (a fragment of dragon claw from potions, or a gobstone she'd found in the corridor). She told him nearly everything that went on at the Castle, and the first years were scheduled to begin flying lessons soon.

This afternoon, Harry arrived early and claimed a discreet table at the far back, far away from the barista and the only other full table in the place. He waited for Dudley, and cautiously cast a nonverbal Scrambling Charm (one of his favorites) so they wouldn't be overheard discussing magic. More likely, they would just be heard having an impassioned conversation about bananas. Harry nevertheless eyed the mustachioed barista warily, wondering if he was dangerous.

Except, wait…he had to remind himself that he was not working right now. Not everyone he met was a violent dark wizard wishing to do him ill.

Harry sighed and released a breath he had subconsciously been holding. Sometimes it was so easy to forget that while much of his life had involved Voldemort, malicious Death Eaters, and scheming wizards, most of those dangerous days were behind him. While there was certainly a need for his skills at his job as an Auror, he now had some days where the most terrible thing to happen to him was a bite from a pixie while he was working in the garden. And he was certainly grateful for such a lack of trouble.

Harry mulled this thought over as Dudley entered the shop. The cousins greeted each other and purchased caffeinated beverages, then reclined at the table and began to talk. They discussed their most recent letters from Hogwarts, which bore news of the first Quidditch match date (for Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw) in late October, and of a most unusual experience with Scorpius and a hidden compartment in the school. Harry had read James' letter three times, almost sure that the compartment had never been featured on the Maurader's Map, and intrigued by the stockpile of Cloners. He'd been meaning to broach the subject with George, but hadn't had the time yet. He'd only just returned from a frustrating investigative trip to Brooklyn on Thursday, where his contact, Magnus, had been unhelpful at best.

After about half an hour of talking, they reached a lull in the conversation. Harry's tea had gone cold and Dudley had finished his coffee, but neither seemed ready to leave.

After a moment where Dudley seemed to be in thought (which he seemed to do far more often as an adult than when he and Harry had been growing up), he finally said, "Harry, remember when we went to lunch after seeing Amelia and James off, and you started telling me about your years at Hogwarts?"

"I do."

"Well, I've been thinking. And I want you to tell me more. I want you to tell me about that evil wizard, too. What's his name…" he clicked his fingers, trying to think of it.

"Voldemort," Harry supplied cautiously.

"Yeah, him. I want to know what happened between you two. And how you defeated him."

Harry had been anticipating this for some time, but now that he was faced with the prospect of actually telling Dudley everything, he became aware that there was so much his cousin had never known. Nevertheless, he began at the start of it all.

"The night Voldemort killed my parents, I survived. And I got left on your doorstep with a letter for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They were asked to protect me, since we were blood relatives. Voldemort suffered greatly the night I lived, and he was damaged from a rebounding curse. He was damaged enough that people thought he was dead. Vanquished forever. But certain people disagreed, and thought it best that I stay protected at your house in case he returned. Even when I started school at Hogwarts, I was unknowingly watched and protected. Of course, it didn't do a whole lot of good; I still got into loads of trouble. You remember the sorcerer's stone, and the giant snake, and Sirius, of course," Harry said. Dudley nodded in recognition.

"Well, the summer before my fourth year, Voldemort started to stir a little more. That was obvious after the Quidditch World Cup."

Harry continued on, telling Dudley about the Dark Mark in the sky, the Muggles floating around in the sky at the mercy of Death Eaters, and about Winky the house elf and Harry's stolen wand. He told Dudley about the Triwizard Tournament and how he had been chosen as a fourth champion. Dudley's eyes widened at this part, either out of interest in the adventure or out of concern for Harry. The reason became clearer when Dudley began to pick at his blue collared shirt in distress as Harry recounted the first task with the Hungarian Horntail.

"I still can't believe you did that at fourteen…but James was right – you do like dragons. First, Norbert, then this, and then he said you rode one out of Gringotts Bank, didn't he?"

Harry became momentarily and conveniently distracted with cleaning his glasses, and continued the story without answering this.

Once Harry described the trophy, Cedric, the portkey, and the graveyard, however, Dudley sobered. He actually looked sad to hear Cedric had died.

"I always wondered, Harry. You used to scream his name in your sleep. I never realized…"

Harry paused for a moment, looking at his cousin from over the rims of his glasses. "You heard me?"

Dudley nodded slowly, looking almost ashamed. Harry didn't know how to respond, other than to continue. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Voldemort was there, Dudley. Actually there. He looked like a baby or something; really bony and wrinkly and curled up. And Wormtail took my blood, and made a potion in this cauldron, and put Voldemort inside it. And then he rose again. He gained a real form. He became a man, and somehow less than one all at once."

Dudley let Harry talk for nearly another hour. He was relatively quiet as Harry recounted the story of the phoenix song and Priori Incantatem, but something in his face seemed to soften as he heard Harry describe seeing his parents again as they came out of Voldemort's wand. He listened intently as Harry described his fifth year: Professor Umbridge, the Order of the Phoenix, and Harry's curious dreams.

The two cousins decided (after Dudley had seen the scars from Umbridge's quill on Harry's hand) that Umbridge was perhaps worse than Voldemort. Harry knew this to be true because of her totalitarian attitude and saccharine demeanor, and Dudley added that all her hideous pink bows probably didn't help her case either.

They had laughed about this, but then slowly dwindled back into a serious mood, for Harry then brought up the night at the Ministry of Magic, where Voldemort had sent his followers in pursuit of the prophecy, and Sirius had died.

Dudley did not seem surprised at Sirius' death; he'd heard Harry shout that name in the dark at night on Privet Drive too. Dudley was actually more interested in the prophecy.

"You actually had a prophecy made about you? From like, an actual psychic?"

"Well, 'Seer,' actually, but yes. The prophecy was the reason Voldemort killed my parents. But he hadn't heard the full prophecy at the time, and he wanted the rest of it to figure out how to get rid of me."

"Wow. I had no idea Seeing was even possible. Are people like that common?"

"Not really; I think it passes through families, though. But I only know one who was real – she teaches Divination at Hogwarts, actually. She's always a bit batty, but she has her moments. I've seen her give a prophecy before. Merlin, it was creepy - her eyes bugged out and her voice got really deep and unnatural."

A strange expression crossed Dudley's face, as if he had simultaneously eaten something sour and remembered some bad memory, but he covered it quickly and asked Harry another question about the night at the Ministry. Harry thought nothing of it; it wasn't as if their conversation topics were light and enjoyable. Something was bound to give Dudley pause (anything from merpeople to Voldemort to tentacled brains at the Mystery of Magic would have done).

By the time Harry had finished recounting his fifth year to his cousin, Dudley looked slightly cross-eyed, and they decided to end their meeting. They'd finish another part of the story the next time they met.

"Sorry," Dudley said, "I didn't realize the story was such a long one, Harry, or I wouldn't have asked. But thank you. I've told Hannah what you've told me before, and she said it sounded like it would make a great 'fiction' book, you know, for Muggles like us. But she'll want to know the rest of the story. Can I tell her about this?"

Harry nodded; he too was surprised to say anything. He hadn't really thought about everything he'd experienced in this much chronological detail before, and while he knew it was in history books, he never thought about it as a good Muggle story.

All he knew was that it had happened to him, but he hadn't said much about his life because no one other than his close friends and Dumbledore had really asked. But now that he was given the chance, Harry found he had a lot to say.

And he noticed, the more Dudley heard about Harry's life, the less he resented his cousin. The less he felt afraid of him. Dudley seemed to be realizing Harry had been through so much, and had had no one to talk to about it during those dreaded summers. And to think, Dudley had spent his childhood summers with bullies, punks, and truants. He'd spent too much time wishing he'd had more than one quarter of a grapefruit for breakfast during those stupid diets to really pay any positive attention to his cousin. What a terrible, vibrant, excruciatingly painful life Harry seemed to have had.

As they parted ways outside of the cafe, Harry waved to Dudley, feeling for the first time like he and his cousin had grown a lot in their relationship. But something still bothered him.

How was he going to end the story? Should he tell Dudley about his death and his conversation with Dumbledore at King's Cross? Somehow it seemed as though that part of the story was intimate, private, and personal; Harry felt as though sharing it with anyone beyond Ginny, Ron, and Hermione would be indecent. Even his children didn't know yet - they were too young to understand anything about horcruxes or Harry's death in the Forbidden Forest.

But lying to Dudley and telling him he'd just miraculously survived the killing curse again also felt wrong. He looked down at his hand, where  _I must not tell lies_  was still carved into his raised, scarred, white-and-pink skin. Harry would have until his next coffee meeting to decide what to say. But for once, Harry hated to admit, Umbridge might have gotten it right.


	15. Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a dish best brewed in Potions class.

After lunch the following Monday, Amelia and James joined Scorpius for Potions in the dungeons with Professor Suresh. They had been dreading this day all weekend, because it meant another long class period spent in a dank dungeon. But the worst part by far was that it was all spent in close confinement with the Slytherins.

Professor Suresh proved to be a justifiable head of house for the Slytherins, for he was certainly cunning and smart, with a serious side he'd expressed on many an occasion. Suresh was quick to give out house points, but even quicker to take them away or admonish students, particularly if they were not in his own house. However, despite this, he had won over many of the Gryffindor girls with his handsome features and the lingering rumor that he had once dated Helga Hazel, one of the lead singers in the popular wizarding band,  _Punk Pixie._

He was also the one who had come to the rescue of Amelia, Bridget, James, and Scorpius that night on the Hogwarts Express. James was still convinced Bridget fancied him.

Potions was a difficult class for all of them, particularly Scorpius. Given his previous encounter with Paschal Zabini and Kenny Flint, he was less than thrilled to have to share a classroom with two boys who were proving to be relatively formidable bullies.

On the first day of potions, Scorpius seemed hopeful that he might find friends in Slytherin.

"Scorpius, sit next to me?" Kenny implored from his position at the bench adjacent to Paschal.

Scoripus eyed him suspiciously, but said, "Okay," and took a seat at the bench and began to lay out ingredients. After a few minutes, Paschal tipped over a bottle of green pickled newt toes onto Scorpius's lap. "Oops."

Kenny: "You might want to clean those robes, Malfoy. But I don't think you can wash the Gryffindor Crest off it too…that's permanent."

Paschal snickered quietly, and Scorpius turned the color of a radish.

Professor Suresh, having only just entered the classroom, said mildly, "Mr. Malfoy, what happened to your robes? Five points from Gryffindor for clumsiness. Dear me, those newt toes were expensive. Replacing them will be tricky."

By the fourth day of potions, Scorpius still remained in his original seat next to Kenny, perhaps in an effort to turn the other cheek, or to earn Kenny's friendship at last. However, it seemed Paschal and Kenny already had made other plans.

"Oh no – Scorpius, can you grab that gecko tail? I dropped it under the bench there."

Scorpius bent down out of sight, and Kenny immediately slipped a few unwanted ingredients into Scorpius' cauldron. Once Scorpius stood up again, the cauldron was frothing with green foam. Within mere seconds, it began spitting and spewing, raining the contents of a botched potion upon the entire class. Scorpius frantically tried to extinguish the flames under his cauldron.

Professor Suresh spun around, distracted from helping John Menton and Claire Perch properly extract vanilla beans from a pod: "Ten points from Gryffindor – Mr. Malfoy, it says on the board to use one snakeskin, not three gecko tails. Pay attention next time, please, or we'll have a deadly explosion on our hands instead of a Soothing Solution."

Today, Amelia shuddered at the memories of the past potions classes. She felt more pity for poor Scorpius, and was beginning to forget the sting of his initial Puking Pastille prank in Diagon Alley. She was starting to see that Scorpius really just needed some friends.

He hardly got any mail from home – his parents were apparently none too pleased he'd been Sorted into a different house, or that he'd fainted on the train. James had told her once that the Malfoys still had a lot of pride, even if they lost a lot of it when Voldemort finally fell. Amelia saw it, especially when Scoripus would merely turn up his nose and eyes into an aloof mask when he was being bullied. In addition to rarely getting mail, Scorpius had trouble making friends in Gryffindor, since the majority of his childhood had been spent dreaming of being in Slytherin. He therefore felt out of place in the common room decorated with gold and maroon, and had become rather antisocial. He spent most of his time either studying by the suit of armor or, as James had said, reading books in the boys' dormitory with the curtains of his four-poster bed pulled tight.

The class filed into the dungeon to find the chalkboards full of equations and ingredient lists for today's potion, a Darkness-Dispelling Draught that could make someone glow in the dark. While James marveled at how wonderful it would be to actually use this, Amelia had a hard time seeing how this would have any practical applications. Nevertheless, she did think it was much more interesting than learning how to dissect a frog in Muggle biology.

At the front of the room, Professor Suresh was setting up his notes at his desk. A full cauldron of the complete Dispelling Draught bubbled on the burner to his left, acting as a guide for what the potion should look like when made correctly. James was eyeing it with interest.

Amelia's gaze was on Scorpius. She watched him carefully as he took his seat next to Kenny again. She had saved an extra seat with her satchel in case Scorpius had wanted to sit there instead, but he was persistently submitting himself to torture.

James followed her gaze, and said, "Why does he do that? He should try sitting somewhere else for a change."

"Dunno," she replied as she lit a fire under her cauldron.

"Maybe we should do something," he said mischievously.

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe we should teach Kenny and Paschal a lesson. Then they'd stop making Scorpius so miserable. I mean, I can feel his angst from here, Amelia."

Amelia hesitated. Doing something under the watchful and critical eye of Professor Suresh made her nervous. "How? Suresh will see us."

"No he won't. I've been planning this for a while," James said with a grin. He pulled apart his bag to reveal a silvery cloak.

"What is that?"

"It's an Invisibility Cloak. My dad passed it on to me."

"No way! Is that the same one from the stories you showed me?" Amelia asked excitedly. She remembered the books about Harry Potter she'd read with James over the summer. She couldn't wait to tell her father about such a cloak. He'd never believe it.

"Indeed it is," James smiled. Amelia smiled, but then dread crept into her mind.

"We'll get caught. Suresh will probably notice if you just go and disappear."

"I'm going to say I'm going to the bathroom, then come back in, invisible-"

"-And do  _what_ , James?"

"I'm going to take some of the already-made potion – the Dispelling Draught. I have a plan. I'm just going to need a bit of a distraction. Maybe call Suresh over to ask how to chop up your caterpillars or something so I can get close to his cauldron."

Amelia thought for a moment, but then looked back to Scorpius and Kenny and Paschal. Paschal was imitating Scorpius' aloof expression and Kenny was laughing silently. Scorpius was leaning intently over his Potions book and did not notice. Seeing Kenny's pursed lips and mocking amusement made the decision for her.

"Okay," she said softly. "Just tell me when."

James grinned.

Once James excused himself from the classroom, Amelia called Suresh over to take a look at her caterpillars. "I think one of them might be too small to cut into the slices you suggested," she said. "Can you show me how to cut it properly?"

"Amelia, I've seen you chop these perfectly before. What's different now?"

"I, uh, just wanted to be sure."

"Well," Suresh said with a confused expression, "I could help you chop them, but you are always welcome to get different caterpillars if you think those are too small. Just take some different ones from the storage shelf." He began to walk away. Amelia blinked, and saw a disembodied hand hovering above Suresh's cauldron. James still needed more time.

"Wait!" Amelia said, scrambling.

Suresh turned curiously and approached her again. "Yes?" His dark brown eyes were fixed on her with terribly intense focus.

"Um…" Amelia glanced back at the cauldron, where James' hand now held a large stoppered bottle of the light yellow potion. She saw it disappear – James was completely invisible once more. "Uh, never mind. I forgot my question."

Suresh gave her a bewildered, if somewhat judgmental look, but seemed to shrug it off as he returned to his desk. Amelia breathed out in relief, and pretended to be focusing on the instructions in her potions book, listening for James' return. He approached moments later, flushed with pride at his success and clutching the bottle tightly. He slipped it into his bag where the cloak lay folded innocently, and resumed his work.

"Nice save. Do you think Suresh saw?"

"If he did, he didn't say anything. I think you're okay," Amelia whispered. "What are you going to do with that potion?"

"Well, to put it one way, I wouldn't want to drink the pumpkin juice at the Slytherin table tonight."

Amelia laughed.

* * *

They told Scorpius what they had done after James had returned to his seat at dinner. The bottle of potion was now mostly empty, and James' cloak was refolded and stowed in his bag once more. At the Slytherin table, Kenny and Paschal sat laughing and sipping from their goblets. Goblets that James had just spiked with Dispelling Draught.

Scoripus took the news rather badly.

"Why would you do that? Suresh is head of Slytherin! He'll know it was one of us that did it!"

"We haven't been caught, Scorpius," James sighed. "Besides, Suresh won't be able to prove it anyway, even if he did know."

"Just let me fight my own battles. Honestly." Scorpius huffed and scooted down the table to sit next to John Menton and Bradley McKinnon, who were talking avidly about Quidditch.

"You know, I'm starting to think going to all that trouble wasn't worth it," James said, watching Scorpius. "I thought he'd love this prank."

"I'm starting to think Scorpius just doesn't want the attention," Amelia said thoughtfully.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, James and Amelia rushed to the Great Hall eagerly. They sat at their usual spot, and were quickly joined by Carly, Bean, and Bridget, who looked like they might burst from excitement.

"We have news," announced Bridget as she sat down and adjusted her Ravenclaw robes.

"Did you hear about the Slytherins?" Bean said breathlessly as he scooped some marmalade from a glass jar.

"No, what happened?" James feigned surprise.

"Well, one of their prefects is dating a Ravenclaw girl, and we overheard them talking just outside the Great Hall. Get this – last night two of the first year boys somehow got hexed or something, and they glowed in the dark  _all night_. No one in their dormitory could sleep since it was so bright. The two boys had to be sent to sleep in the infirmary so they wouldn't bother the others!" Carly said.

Amelia stole a glance at where the first year Slytherins sat. Kenny and Paschal were seated among them looking admonished and slightly iridescent. The other boys looked noticeably sleep-deprived and groggy. Amelia snorted. James looked thoroughly pleased.

Carly said, "I wonder who did it – it was genius. Those two are menaces."

"Professor Suresh looks like he might kill them," said Bean warily.

Suresh was seated at the raised faculty table, watching Kenny and Paschal with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed tight. Bridget and Carly swooned a little. Bean rolled his eyes and launched into a discourse about not judging people on their appearances. Amelia was hardly listening – she was too happy the plan had succeeded. She and James ate their breakfast earnestly, trying to keep from smiling too much.

Scorpius sat down beside Amelia, startling her. "I'm sorry about yesterday," he said quietly. "I overreacted because I was scared they'd blame me for it and it might make things worse. But I actually think they'll leave me alone now. So…thanks."

They both turned back to look at the two Slytherins, both of whom did indeed seem to be avoiding Scorpius' eyes.

"Of course," Amelia said kindly, exchanging a glance with James. He winked.

"It was James' idea."

"My plans always work," he said proudly.

"Except when they don't, Mr. Potter," said a crisp voice from behind him.

It was Professor Suresh, and he looked handsomely menacing. He was holding a small bottle of ink in his hand, with the words "James Sirius Potter" scrawled across the label. "I found this next to my cauldron after our lesson on Dispelling Draughts. And who should end up with doses of it that night but none other than two boys in Slytherin? I therefore was able to piece together what happened: you stole the potion and spiked the drinks of two fellow students. As far as I'm concerned, this certainly warrants a detention and fifty points from Gryffindor. Please see me in my office tonight at seven. I'll have you clean out some old storage shelves for me."

"Yes, sir," James gulped.

There was a pause. Amelia felt like someone was squeezing her chest much too hard, and James looked embarrassed. Bean, Carly, and Bridget were looking on with startled fear, but Scorpius was the one that stood up first.

"Professor," he said, "he stole the potion for me. Kenny and Paschal have been bullying me for weeks, and James and Amelia decided to stop them by giving them a taste of their own medicine. So if you're going to punish them, you'll need to punish me too, because I'm the main reason this happened."

Suresh stared at Scorpius in surprise for a few moments, but then nodded. "You may join Mr. Potter tonight for detention, Mr. Malfoy. And you too, Ms. Dursley. I wondered if you were part of this, and Mr. Malfoy here has just confirmed it."

Scorpius grimaced and mouthed "Sorry." Amelia felt her face flush.

"Yes sir," she said.

"I should hope this teaches you all a lesson. If I catch any of you pulling pranks in my classroom again, you will be sent to the Headmistress." With that, Suresh turned on his heel and marched out of the door with his emerald robes billowing. There was a stunned silence.

"Well, I sure learned a lesson," James said after a while. "The next time we pull a prank, we can't get caught."


	16. Magic Always Leaves Traces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, across the pond...

It was a chilly, dreary afternoon in Salem. Harry braced himself against the cold, which threatened with every gust of wind to send another course of chills across the back of his neck. Somehow, American wind felt different. Foreign. Harsh. The perfect kind of weather for staying indoors. But given where Harry was going, being indoors was the last place he wanted to be. The old brick building was warm, of course, but it held a long history and dark secrets within it. A shadow lay over the place.

When he reached the building and stood staring up at it, Harry remembered that fateful day when he and Dumbledore had gone to the caves in search of Voldemort's locket. In search of a Horcrux. Dumbledore had told him something that, to this day, had remained with Harry.

_Magic always leaves traces._

As he stared up at the Salem Witches' Institute, he suddenly realized what Dumbledore had meant. Some kind of deep, angry magic pervaded the atmosphere around the school. Harry could almost feel it around him – it came in small tendrils that made him shiver, but not because it was cold outside.

Harry only had one afternoon to spend in Salem. He'd had to make a stop in New York that morning to sort out a business with some stolen Cloners. His contact, Magnus, hadn't lifted a finger –  _was he even a wizard?_  - but the two of them had eventually managed to find the stones and return them to storage. Since he had a few spare hours, Harry figured he might as well make a short jaunt to Massachusetts.

He'd been to the Salem Witches' Institute on Ministry business before, over the summer, when there had been a break-in. Normally, these affairs would have been dealt with by the Ministry of Magic satellite branch in Salem, but the circumstances were special. The Institute was the parent school of Cygnets School for First Year Witches, and had its own magical museum. It was logical, since magicians and magical items were so prevalent in the area.

However, the black-market artifact trade was also prevalent in Salem – so prevalent, in fact, that it was to blame for the disappearance of many important magical artifacts from the museum. The stolen items were so important that the theft had caused an international incident.

Items like Djinni lamps, Egyptian Scrying Diamonds, and various Dark Arts books were not to be sneezed at. And, as the New York department had told him just this morning, they were still missing.

But Harry was back in Salem for another reason this time. The Salem Witches' Institute had closed its doors. The school was no longer running, which explained why Bridget Jacobs had left to go to Hogwarts. Harry hadn't told James this yet. Bridget probably hadn't wanted to tell anyone what had really happened. Her friends would find out soon enough.

After the incident on the Hogwarts Express, however, Harry was keenly interested in the Institute. He, of course, knew why it had closed, but he did not know the full story. However, he had the strangest feeling that it had something to do with the strange attack his son and Dudley's daughter had experienced on the train. And Harry's hunches tended to turn out right.

Magic always leaves traces, and he could feel traces of something new here. Not new to the world, but new to him. And he had seen a lot of strange magic. He'd been the origin of most of it, actually.

* * *

Inside the Institute, the high ceilings gave eerie echoes to his footsteps. The air was musty and old, since no one was tending to the school passageways after what had happened. People were still afraid to go near the school, and most of the security had been transferred to the museum portion of the building. So Harry paced along the dark hallways alone, inspecting and touching and thinking. Just as Dumbledore would have done.

"There's definitely something going on here," he muttered to himself, and he fished for his wand in his robe pocket. He lit it and knelt down to examine the dusty gray stone floor. The stones were covered with dry, cracked leaves, as though a great breeze had brought these vestiges of fall in with one powerful swoop. Harry brushed the leaves aside, and his wandlight illuminated thick black cracks worming their way along the stone, like veins. They were cold to the touch, almost absorbing what little warmth was in Harry's long fingertips. Harry bent to examine them further.

"Is there something I can help you with?" asked a sudden voice from behind him. Harry sprang up and spun around, brandishing his wand in the face of a plump man who had just stepped out of the shadows.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, his heart still stampeding against his ribcage.

The man lit a wand of his own, and illuminated a bearded face and tired brown eyes. He was wearing thick brown robes with orange and red accents – the school colors of the Institute.

"My name is Brian Jacobs. Who are you?"

"I'm Harry. I'm an Auror with-"

"We've seen enough Aurors around here," Brian said aggressively. "You need to leave."

"Hang on, did you say Jacobs?"

The man froze.

"Do you have a daughter?"

Brian looked pained. "Why do you want to know?"

"Bridget Jacobs," Harry said simply.

Brian's eyebrows twitched into a small frown. "Yes, she's my daughter. But how did you-"

"My son goes to school with her. At Hogwarts."

"Well…that's…" Brian looked dumbfounded.

"…quite a coincidence," Harry supplied.

Brian shook his head. "I don't believe in coincidence," he muttered. "Why are you poking around the school, anyway? It's closed. I'm supposed to be patrolling for looters."

"I'm not looting," Harry said indignantly. "I just think that something is going on that we don't understand. A new kind of magic, or a new kind of magical creature…something. Because what happened here – Brian, I think it's going to happen at Hogwarts too."

Brian looked alarmed. "I sent Bridget there to get away from this before it got worse. I was one of the first to know the Institute and Cygnets were closing, since I teach here. But I might have been too late in sending her off. Something could have followed her when she left."

"What could've followed her?" Harry implored.

"I don't know. But it wasn't good, whatever it was. You saw the papers. You know someone died."

"Do you think things will repeat themselves? Is Hogwarts unsafe?"

"Well, I don't think anywhere is safe if whatever it is can cross oceans."

The two men regarded each other uneasily for a moment. Something creaked high above them – probably old wood – but both of them took it as a sign to move.

"We should discuss this somewhere else," Brian said warily. "I know a good place down the street that serves cinnamon beer. Something tells me this is going to be an eventful conversation. And I prefer to have those with a warm beverage in hand."

"Does cinnamon beer actually taste good?" Harry was incredulous. "It sounds terrible."

"It's an acquired taste," Brian said gruffly. "Say, I never caught your last name."

"Because I didn't give it," Harry said honestly. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Surely not," Brian said dubiously.

"Surely so," Harry sighed. Brian merely nodded.

"That was a good thing you did back then, you know," was all he said. Then, he clapped a large hand to Harry's bony shoulder. "Come on. Let's get out of this place. I feel like something's watching us."


	17. A Peevish Inconvenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detentions at Hogwarts are always eventful.

At seven o'clock sharp, James, Amelia, and Scorpius made their way to Professor Suresh's office, which was accessible through his classroom in the dungeons. The door to the room was locked, and Professor Suresh was not there yet. There were, however, three other students sitting on a bench nearby, clearly waiting for detention as well. Two of them Amelia recognized immediately and her heart plummeted. Paschal Zabini and Kenny Flint sat there, with faces partially shadowed by the dim torch lights.

Sitting at the far end of the bench was a very pretty Gryffindor girl Amelia did not know. She was tall, probably a sixth or seventh year, with long, silky blond hair cascading down her back. She wore the traditional Hogwarts robes, but her ears were decorated with rebellious black and silver studs. She gave off a tough yet luminous aura, and some of the boys seemed to be strangely affected by it. Scorpius slammed his shoulder into the wall in an attempt to lean coolly against it, and Kenny and Paschal kept forgetting what they were talking about.

The girl looked up at the sound of footsteps, and waved.

"Hey, James," she said cheerfully. The girl glanced at Amelia, then stood up and held out a hand.

"I'm Victoire Weasley. And you are?"

"Amelia Dursley. And this is Scorpius Malfoy."

There was another uncomfortable silence after Victoire heard Scorpius' last name and smiled frostily.

"So you already know James?" Amelia asked, trying to skim over the tension.

"Yeah, we're cousins. My father, Bill, is his uncle. I've been over to his house for dinner a few times."

"Oh, really?" Amelia said with surprise. "My father is James' father's cousin," she supplied. It sounded just as confusing as she feared. Victoire frowned, looking puzzled.

Amelia wondered if she was thinking the same thing - did this make them vaguely related to each other? Even Amelia was still trying to think of the logistics of this when James spoke.

"Victoire, what are you doing in detention?"

"I did something bad, obviously."

She didn't look repentant. On the contrary, she looked rather bored. "This is my fifth this year. I have one every week for the whole term."

"What could you possibly have done?" Scorpius asked, looking impressed.

"You mean you didn't hear? I'm the bane of Gryffindor tower right now for what I did. Everyone knows."

"We've got no clue," Amelia said. "That surely must be refreshing."

Victoire looked amused. "I'm the reason people don't have to sit with their houses at breakfast anymore. And I was the one who tried to get Sorted a second time. It was supposed to be a statement for house equality." She crossed her arms. "The house system is too divisive."

Scorpius, Amelia, and James exchanged bewildered looks.

"That was  _you_?" interjected Kenny. "No wonder Matthias dumped you right after the Feast."

"Actually, I dumped him. And it was because I met someone else, not because I got caught breaking a silly rule. Ask the other Zabini brother what happened if you don't believe me," Victoire tipped her head toward Paschal, who probably would have snapped at her, but Victoire chose that moment to give him a dazzling smile that seemed to render him temporarily speechless. There was a pause while everyone watched him thinking.

Perhaps to gloss over the awkward silence, or possibly because she was oblivious to it, Victoire changed the subject. "So, what did you guys do? Sneak out after hours?"

Amelia felt that their offense now seemed rather tame. Kenny and Paschal glared at James angrily, but said nothing.

Before anyone could answer Victoire, however, Professor Suresh turned the corner with his emerald robes billowing grandly. He pulled out a key and unlocked the door to the candlelit classroom, then held the door to let the students inside. Scorpius was the last to enter, behind Kenny and Paschal. As he passed, Professor Suresh gave him a tiny wink and tilted his head to gesture to the two Slytherins. Amelia noticed this, and interpreted it to mean,  _You see? They're doing detention too. I'm nothing if not fair._

She liked him ten times better for this.

They gathered around the door to the storage closet at the front of the classroom as Professor Suresh attempted to unlock it. After a few moments of trying however, the door was still stuck.

"I think this has been sealed," Suresh said indignantly. Victoire looked hopeful, as if perhaps this meant she would get out of detention just this once. She twisted a stud in her right ear.

Suresh pulled out his wand, a long black one, and muttered various unlocking spells, but to no avail. He knocked on the door tentatively. There was a responding cackle from inside, and then a shattering sound, as if something had fallen and broken upon the stone floor.

"It's Peeves," Suresh explained to the students, sounding exasperated. "He's barricaded himself in."

"And I'm not coming out," laughed a snide voice from inside. "But if you can get the door open, perhaps I won't drop anything else."

Amelia looked at James and Scorpius, but they both seemed just as surprised – none of them had had the misfortune of encountering Peeves until now, although James had told Amelia stories about him. As she glanced around, she saw that Kenny and Paschal looked interested for the first time. Victoire, who apparently was used to Peeves' antics, examined her nails.

Suresh took a deep breath, and pointed his wand at the door again. There was a grand shower of blue sparks, but the door remained firmly shut.

"Open this door, Peeves," demanded Professor Suresh.

Peeves replied with a raspberry and some choice rude words. "You didn't say please."

"Peeves, do you want me to get the Bloody Baron?"

"He's the only ghost Peeves'll listen to," James explained to Amelia in a whisper.

Peeves did not seem frightened by the threat – "Oooh, are these tears of a bicorn? I wonder what would happen if I…oops!"

There was the tinkle of breaking glass, and Peeves cackled again. Professor Suresh winced. "That was expensive," he said, and turned to face the students once more.

"Obviously, we can't clean out the storage closet with a poltergeist inside. I'm going to get the Bloody Baron – I don't know what's gotten into Peeves. He does  _not_  destroy school property…often," he sighed. "In the meantime, please go change into warmer cloaks – I have a back-up detention you all can do with Hagrid and me tonight, but it will be outside, in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. You'll want gloves, and bring your wands for light. I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall in fifteen minutes. And please be on time. Victoire, before you change, could you please notify Hagrid of our change in plans?"

Victoire nodded, and then everyone scattered away from the classroom.

Once they were walking back up the corridor, James looked at Amelia in delight. "We just got off  _so_  easy," he said excitedly. "Dad told me about his detentions with Hagrid. Sure, they might have involved harrowing experiences with dead unicorns and stuff," - Amelia shuddered at this – "but apparently they were always rather easy, and of course, it's Hagrid. This is going to be fun. Merlin, I'd love to see Kenny's face once he gets near the Forest."

Amelia smiled. She was comforted by the fact that they would be working with Hagrid. She and James had gone for tea in his cabin a few times since the start of term. However, Scorpius had not accompanied them thus far – James hadn't felt comfortable inviting him along. Amelia wondered how much of that had to do with Scorpius' last name, but did not voice this.

Scorpius remained quiet and reserved on their way back up to the common room, with the exception of uttering the password ("Zeitgeist") to the Fat Lady, who obliged and swung forward to admit them.

They were already climbing the stairs to the dormitories when James stopped for a moment and touched Amelia's shoulder. "Do you still have your Cloner with you?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," Amelia said, although she had forgotten about it until that moment. "But I haven't touched it since we were on the Hogwarts Express."

"I think you should bring it tonight. I don't like the idea of us being out in the dark with Kenny and Paschal. If they try to jinx us, I would love to be able to retaliate."

"Surely it won't come to that," said Scorpius with scorn. "I don't want to get another detention for causing trouble while  _in detention_. My father will send me a howler."

"We won't do anything unprovoked," said James diplomatically. "Besides, hearing a Howler from  _your_  father would absolutely hilarious."


	18. A Ghastly Occurrence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detention is with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. What could possibly go wrong?

The edge of the Forbidden Forest was crested with moonlight, but still projected an eerie, ominous aura that made Amelia shiver inside her warm cloak. As they approached Hagrid's cabin, an owl hooted in the distance, and Amelia shoved her gloved hands into her pockets. She could feel the Cloner and her wand stowed safely, and hoped she wouldn't need to use either. She curled her hands into fists, hoping it would keep them warm – all her extremities were starting to sting, and she was beginning to get a headache.

Waiting outside the cabin were Victoire, Kenny, Paschal, and Professor Suresh. The group only waited in silence for mere moments before Hagrid emerged from within, clutching a gigantic lantern and looking ferociously cheerful. He waved to Amelia, James, and Victoire with a hand the size of a hubcap.

"Right then, come along this way," he said, gesturing everyone over to the side of the cabin, where small wooden crates were stacked against the outer wall. Inside each crate were several brilliantly blue Cornish Pixies, humming in high pitches and vigorously shaking the bars that prohibited their escape. Amelia had encountered pixies before, since they liked to nest in the Potters' back shed where the broomsticks she and James used had been kept.

Professor Suresh held up a crate for the group to see, and explained.

"We are going to split into two groups – I'll take James, Kenny, and Paschal, and Hagrid will take Amelia, Victoire, and Scorpius. We are going to take these crates into the outskirts of the forest and release the creatures."

Hagrid added, "They'll like the forest, those pixies. Hopefully they can nest there 'stead of in the greenhouses. Professor Longbottom has had a tricky time getting them to stay out o' his Soporific Gardenias."

The next thing Amelia knew, she was holding one of the wooden crates and walking behind Hagrid with Scorpius and Victoire. They had just crossed the threshold into the forest – the lights from the cabin still gleamed like eyes in the distance.

Professor Suresh had gone in the opposite direction with his lit wand aloft and the three boys following him. Hagrid's large lantern swung with each of his heavy steps, illuminating the ground in orange-yellow flashes.

"Gotta walk a little into the forest, otherwise those pixies'll just fly out again," Hagrid said as they walked. Victoire twitched her nose at the crate she was cradling, as if the pixies had personally offended her.

After a few moments of walking, the darkness of the forest seemed to close around them like an opaque black blanket. Amelia pulled her wand from her pocket with her free hand. She whispered, "Lumos," and her wand lit up at once. Scorpius followed suit, casting the light around and looking over his shoulder frequently.

"My father told me there are unicorns in these woods," Scorpius said to Amelia.

"There's much more'n that in here," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Not all of it nice, I'll tell yeh."

Victoire cleared her throat. "Perhaps we can discuss that once we are  _out_ of the forest, Hagrid?"

As if to punctuate this, they heard a twig snap somewhere to their left. Hagrid was the only one who didn't jump a little.

Scorpius inched up a little closer to Hagrid, and Amelia moved to the back. The path was becoming much more overgrown, and they now had to walk in single file. Something told Amelia she should feel more scared than she was, but after a few weeks at Hogwarts, she had become more accustomed to the feeling of danger. After all, in a school with underage wizards and witches attempting to learn magic, potential danger was almost expected.

They walked quietly for a little while longer, and then Hagrid stopped and swung his lantern around. Victoire and Scorpius had to duck to avoid decapitation.

"This seems like a good spot," he said. "Open yer cages one at a time, and shake 'em a bit so all the pixies fly out. Keep your wands out in case they turn on yeh though. It's happened before. They like to pull yer hair if they can get close enough."

All in all, the release of the pixies went rather well. With the exception of one pixie who tried to bite Amelia's gloved fingers to avoid being tossed out of the crate, the creatures were surprisingly well mannered…at least, for pixies. They still blew raspberries and made rude gestures as they flew deeper into the forest, but having just experienced the same behavior with Peeves, everyone was well enough desensitized.

The walk back seemed to take ages. Amelia was in the back again and glad her detention was nearly over. There was almost something exciting about being led by a half-giant through a magical forest illuminated only by wandlight. Her father would love to hear about this, she was sure. Of course, she would leave out the part where it had been a detention.

The only scary part about the forest was the unknown. For every tree the wands illuminated, ten new dark shadows and even more strange shapes emerged. Several times, Amelia thought she saw a hooded figure in a cloak walking parallel to them. Once, she even glimpsed a skeletal horse with wings grazing between two thick tree trunks, but when she blinked, it was gone. The shadows were definitely playing tricks on her eyes. She was straining to see clearly, and it was making her headache even worse.

They were just able to see the lights inside Hagrid's hut again when Amelia heard a scream. It sounded muffled, as if it were traveling a long distance through heavy mist. She stopped abruptly and turned around, searching for the source. It seemed to be coming from everywhere. She held her wand high, scanning the path, but only saw a small radius of light and then total darkness.

Had she merely imagined it?

Perhaps she had - when she turned around, she saw the rest of her company had kept walking. They were getting farther and farther away – Amelia would have to run to catch up. She tucked her hand in her pocket, making sure the Cloner wouldn't fall out, and began to run.

"Did you hear someone scream?" she asked them when she'd caught up at the edge of the forest, fighting to get her breath. Her head was pounding fiercely now.

"No, I didn't hear anything," said Victoire. Scorpius frowned, and shook his head no. Hagrid didn't look too concerned. "Might have been a fox. We get those all the time – and sometimes they make noises that sound like screams."

His tone was reassuring, but the sound in Amelia's memory still unsettled her. She extinguished her wand light and turned back to face the forest again.

Perhaps it was just the afterimage from gazing at her wand light for so long, but she thought she saw the hooded figure again between two trees. It was closer this time. Its cloak billowed like smoke in a wind, but then it was gone when Amelia blinked. Another trick on the eyes, she supposed, but her stomach churned unpleasantly.

She was grateful to get back to the safety of the castle. The Fat Lady was dozing when they reached the portrait hole, and Scorpius had to shout twice to wake her up.

"You'll wake half the castle, you will. So  _shrill_ ," she sputtered crankily as they clambered into the common room. James snickered softly. "She has a point," he said.

"Shut up," Scorpius muttered.

* * *

Amelia quietly crawled into her luxurious four-poster bed in the girls' dormitory, her head still throbbing. Her black cat, Arthur, was already curled up among the soft sheets, his green eyes half-lidded and sleepy. She turned out her light and stroked his fur – the sound of his purring comforted her. Her head felt heavy and tornadic – sleep would help, she was sure.

There was, however, one thing Amelia wanted to check before falling asleep. She clutched her Cloner in her palm, running her index finger over the crack down the middle. The password was still there –  _hummingbird_. Amelia had forgotten to rub it off now that she'd memorized it. It also occurred to her that she hadn't tried using it yet. It had remained tucked inside her trunk ever since her journey on the train, and the only spell to be used in its direct presence had been  _Lumos_  when they were in the forest earlier that night. Amelia wondered how well it would replicate the spell now.

Experimentally, Amelia whispered, "Hummingbird," and clutched the stone tight. At first, she thought nothing had happened. No light shone from the stone.

But then, with a terrifying jolt, Amelia noticed something just visible in the corner of her eye.

As she turned, she saw a shadowy, hooded figure standing in the middle of the room. It was all black smoke with a vaguely human shape, bathed in the weak moonlight coming from the window. It looked blurry somehow, as though she was seeing it from underwater. Amelia froze. She didn't make a sound, didn't breathe – she and the figure stared at each other for what felt like eons. She wrestled her fear into the deepest part of her stomach, and finally gained enough courage to speak.

"You...It was  _you_  I saw you in the forest. What are you?" Her voice came out stronger than she felt. The figure remained impressively still.

Then, Arthur hissed loudly, startling her so much that she nearly fell out of bed. The noise seemed to have scared the smoke figure too, because it began to dissipate at once.

As the black tendrils dissolved into the air, Amelia heard the same scream she had heard in the forest again – a far away, muted yell – but this time she realized it was coming from inside her own aching brain. It sounded similar to what it was like when a song was stuck in her head: almost real sound, but not quite.

The last of the shadowy wisps melted away before her eyes, and then there was a chilling whisper in her ear.

In her terror, she only heard two of the words:  _Master,_ and something that sounded a lot like  _Death._


	19. The Origins of a Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There may be something there that wasn't there before.

Quidditch season had come again to Hogwarts. The grounds had been scattered with colored leaves that left a mosaic of red, yellow, and brown upon the grass. A light frost had crystallized on the pitch that morning, but it quickly melted into dew. Up in Gryffindor Tower, everyone was abuzz in anticipation for the match. The team had already left to begin warming up.

Scorpius waited near the lit fireplace. He was wearing clean black robes, and waved as James and Amelia appeared at the top of the stairs. James was decorated from head to toe in house colors, and slid down the banister in a whirlwind of red, gold, and lion emblems. Amelia descended the stairs the normal way, taking in Scorpius' plain outfit.

"Where are your colors? Aren't you going to the match with us?"

"I am," he said. "I'm just going to be neutral today."

This was an unacceptable answer. She shot James a look that seemed to explain this, and he nodded with silent understanding.

Over Scorpius' oblivious head, he counted down from three with his fingers. On "one," James cried, "Get him!"

They seized Scorpius around the shoulders and knees, carrying him horizontally back into the boys' dormitory. He let out a loud "Oi!" and some of the other Gryffindors in the common room laughed.

Once upstairs, they dumped him onto his bed with a dull thump. As James rifled through his trunk for more Gryffindor gear, Amelia pointed her wand confidently at Scorpius. "Don't run," she said, "or I'll hex you. I've been practicing the Body-Bind Curse, and I won't hesitate to use it. You are in desperate need of festooning."

"Listen to her," James said, tossing clothes over his shoulder haphazardly. "She's quite good at the Body-Bind. She's been practicing on me." He held up maroon socks, a snitch-patterned hat, and a striped scarf in appraisal. Then, he passed them over. Scorpius accepted the clothes and put them on with a resigned expression.

Once he was deemed fully dressed, James led them out of the portrait hole and down to the match. Amelia kept her wand out and stood beside him, although it was mostly just for show. He eyed it warily, but a tiny smile twitched to life on his pale lips.

Something had changed between the three of them in the days following their detention. Amelia hadn't slept at all the night she'd tested her Cloner; she'd been distressed about about the ghastly smoke that had whispered ominously in her ear. She'd been too scared even to move one foot out of bed until sunrise, lest it return and attack her. When she'd told the boys what had happened, Scorpius and James had seemed to forget their differences. They both had wanted to help get to the bottom of what had come out of the stone.

Amelia had been beside herself with worry. What if she had set it loose on the castle? What if something terrible had happened? What if it had attacked someone like it had done to Scorpius on the train? How could she have been so foolish?

But then, where had the smoke even come from? The spell it was supposed to have duplicated was a simple illumination charm.

Scorpius had mused over theories – perhaps the stone had absorbed the smoke Amelia had seen in the forest? But that would mean the smoke had been an enchantment. James had wondered if it had been some kind of ghost. "Have  _you_  ever seen a ghost that looked like that?" Scorpius had scoffed.

"You're sure it said  _Master_ and  _Death?_ " James had asked.

"Definitely  _Master_ ," Amelia had replied, "but I'm not sure about the  _Death_  part. I couldn't hear properly. I bet it was something else. It might have been  _'_ breath' or 'deaf' or 'Seth'..."

There had been an outburst of laughter - " _Seth_? You can't be serious."

"Fine then, if you  _want_  it to be death!"

They had debated theories for days, but in the process, they'd begun to bond. All three of them felt they now had a duty to find out what had really happened. James had curiosity in his blood, and had jumped at the challenge to investigate. Scorpius had even started stockpiling books from the library on one of the far tables in the common room. Amelia had been sitting with the boys for hours the past few nights, turning old pages and scribbling notes on parchment. So far, they hadn't found anything of value. However, Amelia could not help but notice that all the research had brought the three of them a little closer. There are some such circumstances that bind hearts together, and the appearance of a mysterious phantom was certainly one of them.

Yesterday afternoon, a rainy Friday, Scorpius and Amelia had been researching at what had become their table in Gryffindor Tower. James had been gone for hours, still in the library with Bridget. They were both trying desperately to finish a report on the differences between Soporific Gardenias and Divining Roses for Professor Longbottom. Although James seemed to get on very well with the professor, who was apparently an old family friend, Amelia couldn't help but notice that James was dreadful at Herbology. Thankfully, Bridget seemed to be rather good at the subject, and had decided to help tutor him.

Amelia had been rifling through  _Mystical Imprints: Ghosts and More_ , but hadn't been intrigued by anything in it. She'd just been considering heading back up to the dormitory to take another look at her Cloner – she'd hidden it in her trunk under a pile of old sweaters – when Scorpius had spoken.

"I'm sorry," he'd said, looking up at her from over a large stack of hardcover books.

"What?" Amelia had replied distractedly, turning another page. "What for?"

After a long silence, she'd looked up to meet Scorpius' gaze.

"I think you know," he'd said thoughtfully. "That day, at Diagon Alley. The Puking Pasty."

The memory made her twitch her nose. "Oh..." she'd said.

"At any rate, I'm sorry. I was a…a..." he'd struggled to find a suitable word.

"A prat?"

Scorpius almost smiled. "Yeah, that. To be honest, my father's family isn't too crazy about Muggle-borns. Gran says he used to be worse, of course. They all did, really. But then Lovegood's book came out…it sort of brought a lot of shame on my family. Well…we were already kind of in shame after the Battle of Hogwarts, apparently. But the book made things even worse. And Father didn't really like that, so we mostly kept to ourselves. I'd never met anyone who was Muggle-born before you, actually. And I did the only thing I could think of, the only thing I knew how to be, the only thing my family has ever been to Muggle-borns…I was cruel."

"It's okay, I moved past it a long time ago."

"But I haven't. I knew it was wrong even as I was giving the pasty to you…I just couldn't stop myself. I really don't know why."

"It's fine. Honestly, it's fine." She'd looked at him sincerely. "Besides, I know how family pride is. I haven't seen my grandparents in over a year - my father was worried they'd never love me if they found out I was a witch. So we just talk on the phone, and I pretend to be a normal Muggle. The day I went to Diagon Alley, I told them I was going for a bike ride, so they wouldn't know I was selecting a standard size pewter cauldron instead. It's awful, and I hate lying to them, but I do it because I'd prefer not to be judged by my family. Just like you don't want to be judged by yours."

Scorpius had paled, if that was even possible. He hadn't seemed to know what to say. Seeking to spare him, Amelia had changed the subject.

"How could you not have met anyone Muggle-born before? Didn't you go to school?"

In her mind, she'd pictured Scorpius sitting in a Muggle school wearing a uniform and carrying a Spider-Man backpack or something. The very image of him brandishing a pencil like a wand, frowning when it didn't do what he wanted, had been enough to make her lips quiver into a smile.

"I was taught at home. Magical education is different. A lot of my education was actually on the lineage of wizarding families. About  _my_  lineage. About how everyone in my family has been in Slytherin." He'd sighed then, as if to brush this last statement off airily. But Amelia had known it was more than that.

"You shouldn't beat yourself up about being in Gryffindor, you know," she'd said. "Most people would consider it an honor. Your father should too."

"You don't know Father. He's sent me exactly two letters so far – one to make sure I was okay after the train incident, and the other with a new toothbrush. It was green." He'd given her a wry grin. "I think he's trying to tell me something."

"He'll come around, I know he will. Besides, our house colors suit your complexion better than green anyway. And just ignore Kenny and Paschal - you're braver than the two of them put together. The Sorting Hat knew that - that's why it gave you a chance to make your own way, apart from your family and their expectations. It knew you had the bravery to be the Malfoy that was  _different,_ Scorpius."

Scorpius' mouth had twitched when she'd said his name. "I hope you're right," he'd said with another sigh. "The Malfoys have been in Slytherin for generations. They probably think something's wrong with me to have messed it all up. I've been worrying that people will ask me if I was adopted, or switched at birth or something."

At that moment, James had entered through the portrait hole carrying a long roll of parchment and a pot of ink. He'd sat down beside Scorpius and said, "You know, I was going to ask you that very question. It would make it a lot easier on me if you were. Otherwise I'm going to have to tell my father I've actually befriended a Malfoy."

Both Amelia and Scorpius had rolled their eyes, but there was something warm in Scorpius' expression that hadn't been there before.


	20. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quidditch and kisses.

By the time they made it down to the Quidditch pitch, half the stands were already full. Amelia was glad to see Bridget, Bean, and Carly waving from their seats among the Ravenclaws. They were decked out in blue and bronze, waving a gigantic stuffed eagle over their heads. It had been enchanted to flap its wings fiercely, and the gusts of wind it was causing kept knocking Professor Thomas' Gryffindor hat off his head.

Scorpius was eyeing the people sitting to the left of Bridget and her friends – some Slytherins occupied the bench, eyeing the Gryffindors with contempt. Among them were Kenny and Paschal, and a black haired witch with high cheekbones. The three of them jeered at the sight of Scorpius adorned with his house colors. Scorpius turned the same shade as his maroon socks.

"Don't let them get to you – try to enjoy the match instead," Amelia said encouragingly. She nudged him forward, and they sat down beside Victoire Weasely and some other sixth year Gryffindors. James immediately began leading the Gryffindors in a rousing cheer.

The Quidditch players gathered in a large circle on the field, and there came a great roar from the crowd. Upon the sound of a whistle, the teams began the match by kicking off from the ground aggressively. They flew like rockets around the stadium, causing Amelia's blond hair to whip across her face every time they passed. The Quaffle and Bludgers seemed impossibly tiny, and the goalposts loomed large on either side of the pristine field.

The excitement and anticipation in the stands was almost tangible - Amelia's skin prickled and her heart raced. She had never been to a Quidditch match before. James had already explained the game to her, but actually watching it being played was drastically different than what she'd pictured in her head. She realized that while flying at the Potters' had been exhilarating and fun, the sport in action seemed intense and terrifying.

Gryffindor was leading by almost fifty points before anything truly miraculous happened. Callie Morrow, the Ravenclaw Seeker, suddenly went into a nearly vertical dive – James and Scorpius jumped to their feet in amazement – had she seen the Snitch? Amelia stood too, craning her neck to see.

Just then, the Gryffindor Seeker, Bradley McKinnon, swept across Callie's path. She veered off course to avoid a collision. As a result, she seemed to lose sight of the Snitch, but Bradley kept on in earnest pursuit. In what seemed to take ages, his arm slowly reached out to catch the golden ball – everyone gasped – but then he quickly had to draw his hand close to his chest to evade a Bludger that would definitely have broken his arm. In that fateful moment, the Snitch escaped, uncaught.

There was a collective shout of frustration from the Gryffindors, but the Ravenclaws' enchanted eagle squawked happily. Amelia took her eyes off the match, distracted in her disappointment. In that moment, she saw that Bridget was no longer sitting in the stands. Bean and Carly stood cheering without her, as though they hadn't yet noticed she was gone.

And then, as she turned her head, Amelia realized Victoire was missing too. Perhaps they had both excused themselves to the bathroom? But why would anyone leave during a game this exciting? How could they bear to miss such an intense moment of Quidditch? As someone who had been raised by Muggles, Amelia still found everything about the magical world she was now part of to be fascinating and full of adventure. Perhaps magic-born children didn't see it that way, she thought with a sad smile.

She wondered what someone like Scorpius or James might think of a Muggle football match. After seeing Quidditch, every other sport probably seemed dull and boring. Her parents, who were quite avid football fans, would probably think Quidditch was strange yet satisfyingly daring. Although, when she thought of her father wearing scarlet and gold Snitch socks, or her mother surrounded by magicians brandishing enchanted mascots, it gave her the strangest desire to laugh.

What were they doing right now? Hopefully they'd gotten her letters – she'd tried to send them with Hatherley in the evenings, because her mother would be working her shift at the hospital and would be spared another encounter with birds. In her last letter, she'd enclosed some random objects from the magical world, including a clipping from the Daily Prophet with moving pictures of Quidditch players. The caption had read, "The Chudley Cannons experience defeat against Holyhead Harpies for tenth year in a row." Amelia had recently learned from Scorpius and James that these were professional Quidditch teams, and that the Chudley Cannons would assuredly lose any match.

She was jarred out of her reverie by Scorpius, who had just elbowed her hard in the side.

"Ouch! What is it?"

Scorpius pointed upward. "Look at Bradley!" he yelled excitedly.

Sure enough, Bradley was racing straight up into the sky, hand outstretched toward the Snitch, which glowed like a golden pinprick against the cloudless blue sky. Callie had noticed too late, and was nowhere near close to catching the other Seeker. Within seconds, Bradley was holding something tiny in his hand and waving down at the stands.

The Gryffindors erupted into cheers as the commentator, a fourth-year Hufflepuff named George Stroke, announced the final score and declared Gryffindor the winner. The Ravenclaws looked disappointed – Carly and Bean disenchanted their eagle and it shrank into a small, portable stuffed animal. When Amelia met their eyes, however, they grinned cheerfully and mouthed, "Go Gryffindor!"

Amelia smiled winningly and waved back. Bridget had not returned to the match, but Amelia had hardly taken notice. She was busy trying to extricate herself from the stands among a wave of loud and cheering students, following James down a wooden staircase and onto soft ground scattered with leaves. Amelia turned to glance back at the stands, and saw something peculiar. She slowed, and James continued on through the crowd, oblivious.

There were two people in the shadows under the stilted stands, where the seats made a ceiling over their heads. They were clearly hiding from view, and had selected a good spot, as everyone was distracted by the outcome of the match.

But what Amelia saw made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She saw a tall, lanky boy with bright blue hair, who was standing with his arms wrapped around the waist of a girl. Her back was to Amelia, and the only thing visible was her long, silky, blond hair. The girl had wrapped her arms around the boy's neck, and their lips were pressed together. Amelia froze, feeling like she was watching something she shouldn't be, but she was unable to look away.

"Weird," said a voice from beside her. It was Scorpius – he'd come down the stairs just after her. They stood there for a moment, watching the couple. Scorpius was observing the display with an expression that accurately conveyed how Amelia felt. "It was bound to happen sometime," he sighed. "James is going to be mad he missed this."

"What? What was bound to happen?"

"They've been talking about getting together for  _ages_. I'm surprised it took this long. I kept hearing them talk when I was studying near that suit of armor that tells jokes. They like to meet there and talk. They said the mushiest stuff." Scorpius wrinkled his pointed nose. "Oh well. I'm glad you know now too...now we can tell James about them - and he'll actually believe us."

"Er…who are we telling James about?" Amelia wasn't following. Scorpius looked incredulous.

"I'm talking about Victoire, of course."

"Oh!" She exclaimed. "But then, who's that there, the boy she's snogging?"

"That," Scorpius said, with a strange expression on his face, "is Teddy Lupin."


	21. A Post Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The friends make Christmas plans.

When they told James what they'd seen, he was ecstatic and jealous. His face was flushed from standing so close to the fire in the common room, and he still wore an excited smile leftover from the Quidditch match celebration. "I can't  _believe_  I wasn't there. I bet Albus ten sickles I could prove that Teddy and Victoire were going to get together. We're going to need to catch them at it again so I can tell him I saw it with my own eyes. Al will want proof."

He picked up a pumpkin pasty from a table that had been laden with food from a Quidditch Victory Party that had since been disbanded. Everyone else had already gone to bed, but the three of them had stayed up, hoping to do research. However, none of them had been able to concentrate after the adrenaline of the party - James and Amelia had both eaten Weasley Canary Creams by mistake - someone had hidden a few in a platter of custard creams as a joke. As a result of having temporarily turned into small yellow birds, they had justifiably become less focused on the task of investigating the smoky figure.

Upon hearing James' words, Amelia nearly spat out a cauldron cake she'd bitten into. "James, you can't just sneak around the castle trying to surprise the two of them while they're sharing a moment. It's not decent."

Scorpius snickered. He was lounging in an overstuffed armchair, still wearing the snitch-patterned hat and digging through a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. His cheeks were flushed too – they made his usually pale and aloof features seem warmer and kinder. He looked unsurprised at James' behavior, almost as though he were a lazy uncle watching his small nephew run around the room and draw on the walls with crayons. Amelia stifled a grin and adjusted her feet on the sofa.

"She's right," he drawled. "Give them some privacy."

"Why do you care about them dating anyway?" Amelia asked James.

"Well, Victoire is family. And Teddy's basically family too - my dad is Teddy's godfather."

"Really?" She turned to Scorpius. "How did  _you_  know who Teddy was when we saw him?"

"Well, he's my second cousin. And my family talks about him a lot."

James gave a derisive snort.

Scorpius continued as if he had not heard. "He's pretty famous – and unique – in the wizarding world. I mean...Harry Potter's godson, orphan, metamorphagus, rebellious Hufflepuff, half-werewolf…" he rattled off. "Everyone knows Teddy."

Amelia blinked. "A meta-what?"

"Metamorphagus. He can change his appearance at will," James said casually, dropping into squashy armchair.

"Hang on…half- _werewolf_? Those are real too?"

"He may be the only one of his kind. Werewolves like his father don't usually have children," Scorpius said in an odd tone. James shot him a defiant look.

"Does he…um…"

"Transform? No," James said firmly.

"Oh."

He looked suddenly thoughtful. "You'll probably meet him at Christmas when he comes over."

"I'll what?" Amelia was taken aback. "You mean I'll be spending Christmas with you?"

"Of course," James smiled. "You're family! Unless," he looked suddenly concerned, "you don't want to?"

"Oh, I'd love to! My whole family? My mum and dad too?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Amelia,  _obviously_  your whole family."

"Thank you!" She was elated. "I'll write and tell them! Do wizards do anything for Christmas that would surprise Muggles?"

James squinted in thought. "I'll make a list."

Amelia laughed softly, but it died away once the two of them suddenly became aware of Scorpius' reticence.

He seemed to be lost in thought, staring purposefully into the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. After a few moments, he pulled out a curious tan-colored one, scrutinized it intently, then tossed it back in. He seemed to have stopped listening to their conversation, although now that Amelia and Scorpius were better friends, she knew this probably was not true.

Amelia wondered if he would be spending Christmas at home, or if he would prefer to stay at Hogwarts. Given the cool treatment he'd received from his father recently, she wondered whether going home sounded appealing to him at all. She chewed the inside of her lip.

Thankfully, James broke the silence. He turned to Scorpius with his trademark lopsided smile.

"Scorpius, why in the name of Merlin are you wearing that awful Snitch hat? Who even gave that to you? You look ridiculous."

Scorpius threw a bean at him. "I liked you better as a canary," he said. "At least, then, you were quiet."

* * *

_Dear Dad and Mum,_

_I hope you're doing well! James said to tell you both to make plans to spend Christmas at the Potters'. He also said that you might want to read the attached list of what is considered "normal" at a wizarding holiday/family reunion. That way you know what to expect._

_I hope you like the latest little parcel I've sent with this note. Scorpius and James played Wizard's Chess yesterday, and...it was a bit bloodthirsty if you ask me. It's nothing compared to Muggle (our) chess. The chess pieces act like it's a real battle, and like to hack at each other during the game. Luckily, the castle from Scorpius' set wasn't damaged too badly, so he said I could keep it._

_He said it's replaceable - it's white scolecite, which apparently is a common magical mineral, so all he has to do is send for a replacement. To be honest, I think he gave it to me because he was angry that the piece kept arguing with him about where he was being sent on the board...but I digress._

_Basically, I thought you might like having something a little magical around the house since I'm not there. James said magical chess pieces like to talk, so maybe it will keep you both company._

_Miss you so much - can't wait for Christmas holiday._

_Love,_

_Amy_


	22. The Lies of Dudley Dursley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dudley has some stories of his own.

They decided to go out for a coffee.

Any trace of the summer warmth was now gone from the air outside. It was crisp and cool, and they even had to take several minutes to scrape some frost off of Dudley's car. Harry could not recall the last time he had used a car – he was used to apparition now. Even getting in and closing the metal door felt foreign, yet familiar, like riding a bike after ten years without one.

Dudley saw his face and snickered.

"Do you know how to drive?" he asked, making a flourishing show of turning all the knobs and dials and perfectly performing a three point turn to get them on the right side of the road.

Harry shook his head. This was a topic he had just discussed with Ron yesterday, as a matter of fact. Hermione knew how to drive, but Ron wanted to learn. He'd asked Harry to do it with him so he wouldn't have to go alone.

"I could teach you," Dudley said, looking at his cousin out of the corner of his eye.

Harry laughed. "That would probably be a complete disaster."

"You're probably right. It would be like me trying to fly on a broomstick."

The mental image shut them both up.

When they reached the coffee shop, Harry was disconcerted. In a small town like the one the Dursleys now lived in, there was only one café, one supermarket, and one petrol station. Most people probably knew Dudley well. Knew his family well.

Or, at least, they thought they did.

Harry was receiving some very curious glances as they walked from the parking lot to the café. He touched the scar at the center of his forehead, but then realized no Muggle would stare because of  _that_. It must have been because he was the outsider again.

A man in front of them wearing a tight suit and a big brown coat held the door open to let them pass into the shop.

"How's Amelia doing, then, Dudley? She liking that new school of hers?" the man asked.

Dudley gave a smile that would normally be brittle but was instead soft on his round features. "Yes, she is."

The man grinned cheerfully. "Where is it, again?"

"Er…Scotland. St. Brutus' Academy," Dudley said stiffly, and suppressed a cry as Harry trod on his toes.  _St. Brutus'_. Of all the names of schools to pick, Harry thought. Leave it to Dudley to choose the one that dredged up terrible memories. He could still see Uncle Vernon's purple face in his mind, arranging his cover story for where Harry went to school before the imminent arrival of Aunt Marge. He shuddered at the memory of telling her he went to St. Brutus' Academy for Incurably Criminal Boys.

"Excellent," said the man with a nod. Then, his attention fell to Harry. He looked at him as though examining a bug that had just crawled out of a crack in the floor.

"Uh, Morley," Dudley said with tense politeness, "I'd like you to meet my-" he and Harry exchanged a look, "-my  _friend._ This is Harry. He's an accountant. Just visiting this weekend."

They shook hands, and then the man called Morley turned back around to order a cappuccino. Harry saw Dudley's shoulders relax.

They took their coffees and decided to walk around a nearby park. It was somewhat overcast, so they had the place to themselves. It was quite dreary – the playground consisted of only a dilapidated swing set and a rusty slide. Behind the playground was a small, murky lake with a gravel path that looped around it.

"That was close, back there," Dudley sighed as they began to walk along the path.

"You mean, with Morley? I thought you did a great job. You're still a little tense though. Loosen your jaw a little – you tighten it when you lie."

"Thanks. I – really?" he looked surprised. "How did you…"

"You forget so easily – I had eleven…well, technically seventeen…years to observe you. And you did lie quite a lot. Everyone has a 'tell'. Yours is obvious."

Harry didn't dare hope, but his cousin looked slightly sheepish. "I still lie quite a lot," he said softly, taking a sip of his coffee and looking away.

"Everyone does," Harry said wisely. "But you have good reason to. Especially where Amelia is concerned."

"No one can know her secret. No one can know the truth about us." Dudley seemed rather shaken. "People ask us all the time about her, and where she's gone…and usually I'm okay. Hannah handles the questions, for the most part. But today…with you…I was the one that had to think on my feet. I was the one that had to be on guard. It reminded me of…" he shook his head, "never mind."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"It's nothing."

"Dudley, what's wrong?" he asked gently.

They came upon a park bench next to the lake, and decided to sit down. "Okay. Okay." Dudley put his cup between his knees and stretched out his wide fingers.

"You've told me about some of your past. It's time I shared a little too. About what happened after we left you – after that last night, when mum and dad and I left Privet Drive."

Harry inhaled deeply. He could still smell the acrid stink of Polyjuice Potion and could still feel the dark summer air of that night, all these years later. He thought painfully of Hedwig, Mad-Eye Moody, George's ear…

"The witch and wizard that were escorting us, the protectors," Dudley began, "took us far out into the country. We camped in tents for a few weeks. But then some people started following us. A few men in hooded cloaks. The witch and wizard were able to keep us from being seen, but they still passed very near to us. One night, I heard them say things while we were cowering in the dark tents. Terrible things. About what they were going to do if they found us. There was a bounty offered to those who could catch anyone remotely connected to Harry Potter. Family. Friends. Anyone who might have been hiding you, or protecting you. There was a price on my head. On Mum's. On Dad's. I was worth a lot, apparently. I mean, I still don't really understand your currency system. But I'm pretty sure it was a lot."

This was not news to Harry. He had told his uncle many times that the Death Eaters would have been eager to catch them and torture them for information.

"We went into hiding," Dudley continued, staring out across the lake and blinking at the cloud-covered sun. It was cold enough that his breath came out in long puffs of grey smoke. "We packed up and moved the tent every few days. Our protectors left us alone, mostly. I don't think Dad got on too well with them, as you can probably imagine. And Mum was quite upset too. She cleaned everything she could get her hands on."

Harry laughed.

"But then after a month or so, it got too cold for us to camp comfortably, so we moved to a small village by the southern coast. Very isolated. And we stayed in this tiny, ivy-covered cottage that our protectors set up for us. Looking back, and knowing more about magic than I did at the time, it must have been enchanted, because no one ever found us while we were there. Our contact with friends and family was restricted, because apparently all mail was being searched by undercover wizard agents. We were actually too afraid to even leave the house most days. The idea of secret agents made us all very anxious. Dad in particular - he thought they were terrorists.

"But, over time, I got braver. With the accompaniment of either the man or the woman protector, I would venture into the village for groceries and such. But then…I saw  _them_."

"Who?" asked Harry, knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"Death Eaters – that was what the wizard called them, anyway. Dressed in all black, with hoods and masks. Holding long sticks – sorry,  _wands_. I hid in an alley when they came around. But their presence made the other villagers rather nosy. And whenever I went to the shops after that day, they would ask me who I was, what I was doing there...Everyone was suspicious. And I couldn't very well tell the truth, could I?  _Hello, yes, I'm Harry Potter's Muggle cousin. Please tell the evil wizards that are looking for me that I'm here. You can collect the prize money in exchange for my head on a silver platter. Would you mind sparing my parents? Thanks very much,"_ Dudley said sarcastically, then snorted. "No way."

"So you had to lie. To everyone. You had to think of cover stories so no one found out who you really were," Harry guessed.

Dudley nodded, staring at his knees. "Do you know how hard it is to keep your story straight? To hide in plain sight for months? Always living in fear for your life, and for the lives of people you love?"

There was a brutally long pause. Dudley looked up to see his cousin's expression of total understanding...and utter brokenness.

"Oh. I should have…" He sighed. The sound was as if someone had hit him in the stomach. "Was it like that for you too, Harry?"

"The camping and hiding? The fear? The Death Eaters? And the protective enchantments? Yes," he replied honestly. "It was just Hermione, Ron, and me. On the run, trying to stay alive." A _nd h_ _unt horcruxes_ , he kept himself from saying.

"But there's one thing I don't understand," Dudley frowned. "You can do  _magic_. I mean…that's got to have made things a little easier."

Harry looked out over the placid water, staring at the brown leaves clogging the muddy bank.

"You'd think that," he said finally, "but I'd imagine raising Amelia has helped you realize that magic makes things complicated. Unpredictable. Dangerous."

"But – "

"And," Harry said, cutting him off, "magic always has ways of surprising us, even cursing us, when we least expect it. It is not something to trust or rely on. Most power never is. It is something to be wary of." He thought darkly of the horcrux that had lurked within him for seventeen years.

Dudley did not respond to this. Instead, they sat in silence, listening to the wind rushing through the trees. Somewhere behind them, geese honked and flew overhead.

Then, both cousins were startled out of their seats by someone shouting, "OI – FORGOTTEN ABOUT ME, HAVE YOU?"

Harry launched himself across the lawn and drew his wand, his unruly hair flying about haphazardly. He stood in Auror combat pose, his eyes twitching about. Dudley remained standing just beside the bench. But now he was…smiling.

"What," Harry panted, his heart racing, "in the name of Merlin was that?"

Dudley pulled something out of his pocket. It was a small Wizard's Chess knight. It was cracked in several places, probably where it had been broken during a game and repaired afterward. Harry recognized it as scolecite – a common magical mineral famous for its ability to easily absorb magic. It was widely used for Wizard's Chess because it was easy to break and easy to repair. Ron owned a set when they were at Hogwarts. But how had Dudley gotten ahold of something like this?

"This," he held it out for Harry to see, "is Roland. Amelia sent him to me as a little piece of the wizarding world – to remind us of her while she's away. I forgot – I put him in my pocket earlier. He talks to us. Keeps us company at home. Hannah's grown quite fond of him, I think. Roland is generous with compliments."

"I am, but I don't like your friend!" cried Roland at once. "He's got the look of a troublemaker about him. I don't trust troublemakers. Especially ones with glasses. Those are the real scalawags."

"Don't worry, he'll warm to you," said Dudley to Harry, looking amused. "He said I looked like an untrustworthy urchin at first. But once I gave him a name, he started to like me more."

Harry was utterly bemused. Dudley Dursley, a Muggle who had always feared magic, now had a magical talking chess piece named Roland. This did not compute.

Harry and his cousin looked at each other for a few seconds. And then they were both back on the bench, laughing so hard they were actually wheezing. And in that ridiculous moment, Harry felt something click into place between the two of them. Something that he had once felt between himself and Ron, and with Hermione. That feeling of friendship – warm, inviting, brimming with laughter and memory. The knowledge that some part of you fit alongside someone else.


	23. The Wall of Slytherin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts has another secret hidden in its walls.

The hall at breakfast was a cacophony of owls hooting. Letters fell from the ceiling like shooting stars. Scorpius and Carly were talking animatedly down the table, and James was engrossed in Scorpius' copy of the Daily Prophet. It was Professional Quidditch season now, and he was actively trying to follow the results while making notes with a quill. Apparently he and his mother had a running fantasy Quidditch team competition or something. Amelia didn't really understand it.

"James, you're dripping ink all over your toast," Bridget sighed, moving James' suspended wrist off of the table. She looked rather tired – there were gray shadows under her eyes and there was a matte sheen over her eyes, which normally glistened with excitement.

"Mhmmmm…sorry," James said distractedly. He didn't look up from his writing.

Bean rolled his eyes and speared another sausage.

"You've got too much invested in this, mate," he said, gesturing with his fork. "Besides, the famous Ginny Weasley has far more experience with the sport than you do. You should just give up now."

A smile tugged at James' lips but he still bent low over the paper. Bean glanced back upward, and an expression of alarm came over his face. He gave a shout and dove under the table. This was ultimately a wise move, because moments later, Hatherley soared in too low and smashed into the table directly where he had just been sitting.

"Blimey," blinked James, who now had bits of cornflakes in his hair, "I knew his aim was always a little off…"

"He's got a letter for you," said Bridget, who had just untied it from Hatherley's leg and passed it over.

"What does it say? Is it more news about Christmas?" Amelia scooted closer to James for a look as he opened the envelope.

"Dad met Bridget's father in Salem! Wow, what a coincidence," he said after a moment's reading. "And Uncle George will be coming for Christmas this year – I'm so excited. He's been so busy at the shop, so we don't see him much."

"Did you say my  _dad_?" Bridget looked up at the words. As she did so, Hatherly shook free of her light grip and flew back up into the air.

"Yeah," James looked down at the letter again. "Brian Jacobs. You never told us he worked at Salem Witches Institute!"

"Yeah," said Bean through a mouthful of eggs. "I thought your parents were Muggles."

Bridget shut her lips tight, looking trapped. The circles under her eyes darkened slightly.

"Look, I don't really want to talk about it, but I guess you all probably should know," she said slowly.

"You don't have to tell us anything," Amelia soothed, quelling her inner curiosity.

Bridget looked grateful, but then she sighed. "Well, I've been meaning to tell you for a while…"

Amelia felt herself leaning forward and stopped. She and James made eye contact and he subtly raised an eyebrow.

"I  _am_  Muggle-born," Bridget said. "That's true. But I was adopted by Brian and his wife, Helen, two years ago. My real parents were killed in a car accident."

"Oh, Bridget, I'm so sorry," said Amelia. She touched her friend's shoulder comfortingly. "I had no idea."

"I miss them terribly, sometimes," she sighed heavily, "but Brian and Helen have been good parents. They're not the same. Never will be. But I'm glad to be in their family."

Bean looked thoughtful. "Is that why McGonagall called you Bridget  _Bishops_  when you were being sorted?"

Bridget nodded. "That was my parents' surname. It's still Bishops on all my official records. I just go by Jacobs so I don't have to keep explaining what happened to my real mom and dad."

"You didn't have to tell us," said James, who looked sorry for bringing the subject up in the first place.

"But I wanted to. I just could never really find the right time to explain."

"I'm glad we know now, though," he smiled lightly. "From dad's letter, Brian seems great!"

"He is! I actually didn't know he was a wizard at first, because I think he assumed I was a Muggle and he did his best to hide his magic. But wizards there aren't really very careful with concealment," she cracked a smile, "so I knew almost immediately. I'd done magic lots of other times before, of course. But before I met Brian, I never realized other people could do it too. As soon as I saw him sneak into the kitchen to magically wash the dishes when Helen was upstairs, I figured things out from there."

"But what about the Statute of Secrecy? Wouldn't they get in trouble for adopting a Muggle-raised kid, especially if you didn't turn out to be magical?" Bean was frowning. James gave him an amused look – he clearly thought the question was one only a Ravenclaw would think to ask.

"America has different rules," she shrugged. "Plus, Salem is already full of wizarding families, so hiding magic wouldn't have mattered much. My real parents were friends with people who turned out to be wizards, and I think they probably suspected the truth but just didn't care. I even grew up reading a few wizard stories because they were readily available. They sell Beedle the Bard's stories in Muggle shops in Salem, you know. As 'fantasy'."

"Really?" James blinked in surprise.

Bridget nodded. "Salem is a different place than most. The people are a bit more tolerant of Muggles, and a bit more trusting. Sometimes I miss it."

"You're going home for Christmas, aren't you?" Amelia asked. Her friend nodded and brushed her short hair off her pale face. "I can't wait! I miss seeing them."

Bean patted Bridget's shoulder gently. "But don't forget, you've always got us too!"

The rings under her eyes looked a little less pronounced as she smiled.

* * *

The History of Magic classroom was stuffy and dim. Nearly everyone was lulled into a sleepy trance as Professor Binns droned on. It was the last class of the day for the Gryffindors, and everyone was tired from double Transfiguration and a detailed Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson on entrancement spells. It was terribly hard to focus, but lecture continued onward regardless.

"…Now, of course, Hogwarts has since been repaired. Stone grafts had to be provided from magical stone reserves and ruins in order to provide enough for the floors and walls to be completely fixed, of course. Most of the original tiles were shattered in such small pieces that magic couldn't fit them back together. It is important to note that the stone grafts are still pieces of stone that contain magical properties, as to ensure that Hogwarts' protection from dark magic remains homogenous. If we consider the principles of these stones, we see that in the eighteenth century, it was discovered that…"

Amelia's head hit her desk with a thump. For the third time, she jerked awake and brushed hair from her face as Scorpius and James snickered beside her. It was nearly impossible to stay awake. Professor Binns had the ability to speak monotonously for the entire hour on subjects that really had very little to do with relevant magical history. They were supposed to be talking about the fourteenth century goblin-vampire alliances, but some Ravenclaw boy in the front row had asked if there had been vampires at the Battle of Hogwarts, which had launched Binns off on a tangent, and he'd gone so far off course that now he was talking about rocks.

The other students figured that Binns' brain capacity was being diminished because of his ability to be so  _boring_. Amelia didn't know if it was possible for ghosts to deteriorate, but Binns' educational dullness now bordered on detrimental – to his students of course, and, seemingly, to himself. James had waxed poetic about his opinion on this many times, and thinking about them with the ghost professor right in front of her made her feel like giggling.

The class mercifully ended a few minutes later and everyone stood up, but Scorpius stayed in his seat as the other students left. James and Amelia realized he was staying behind, and promptly sat back down. They were quiet until Binns and all the students had left the classroom, and when they were finally alone, Scorpius turned to his friends.

"When you told me about Bridget's family this morning, I wasn't exactly surprised. But something felt a little off. I need to check something."

James and Amelia exchanged a perplexed look.

"Scorpius, Bridget was telling the truth! Why would she make something like that up? How can you think she lied about her Muggle parents dying?" Amelia crossed her arms.

"Bridget," said Scorpius softly, "is not Muggle-born."

He stood up as if anticipating their questions and walked to the far right wall.

"I remembered seeing her name somewhere. But I need to check."

"By staring at the wall?" James snorted.

"This wall is special," he replied softly. "There's a reason this is the  _History_ of Magic classroom."

James and Amelia remained in their seats, both wondering aloud whether Scorpius had taken a broomstick to the head during yesterday's flying lesson.

Scorpius continued, pretending not to hear them. "Not many people know about this. It was a well-kept secret from Muggle-borns in the time before the Battle of Hogwarts. Few people use it now. But my family has talked about it for generations. They told me where to find it, and how to use it, so I tried it a few weeks ago for the first time."

"Scorpius, what are you on about?" Amelia asked impatiently.

"Any pureblood wizard or witch," he said, placing his left palm on the wall and holding it there firmly, "is able to access it. But, as many of the purebloods who used it were in Slytherin House, it became known as The Wall of Slytherin, one of many secrets in this castle. You can never tell anyone I showed you, least of all my father."

There was a soft scratching sound on the wall, and Amelia and James stood up slowly, listening and peering at the stone. It seemed to be magically etching words onto the wall in flowing script. After about a minute, Scorpius removed his hand from the wall and the etching stopped.

The three of them stood before a gigantic, tiered list of names. James looked thunderstruck.

"What is it?" he asked haltingly.

"It's a family tree, of all the pureblood families and their dates of birth and death," said Scorpius. "It's a way for people to trace their lineage and find their wizarding relatives. In the beginning, when the school was founded, it was used by older students simply to track wizarding marriages and find pureblood suitors. It was used for less pleasant reasons during the blood-status years before we were born, obviously, but it still proves very useful now. Watch."

Scorpius put his hand to the wall again, and spoke a name. "Bridget Bishops."

Amelia gasped - the wall gave a shudder and then began to rearrange itself. A smaller chart with thin branches slowly became etched onto the wall. There, at the bottom, was their friend:

_Bridget Bishops (Bridget Jacobs as of October 31, 2013)_

_Born June 25, 2004 -_

A long line of pureblood Bishops, including four other Bridgets, stretched up the wall until the three of them couldn't read the tiny letters anymore. Amelia and James stood in confused awe, and Scorpius modestly tucked his hands behind his back.

"I was right. See?" he said seriously. "She lied. The question is,  _why_?"


	24. The Red Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being Master of Death has some bad side effects.

Harry apparated onto Dudley's deserted street with a small "pop" and immediately began to walk down the dark road. He shivered at the chilly fall air, and was glad he would soon be inside. Dudley had invited him to dinner and he was genuinely looking forward to it, assuming he could forget the fact it was Halloween.

Halloween had never been a happy night for him, particularly now that he knew about the circumstances of his parents' deaths on that fateful day all those years ago. Voldemort's presence in his mind had provided him with haunting memories he'd never forget: his father shouting at his mother to "take Harry and run", while holding him off without his wand...his mother screaming and begging to take Harry's place and die instead...Voldemort's high, cruel laugh...green light...

They were the purest form of mental torture.

To anyone who knew Harry as well as Ginny, Hermione, and Ron did, his story had not ended after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry had emerged victorious over Voldemort, but every once in a while an inner war raged within him. He still reeled with the trauma, he still yearned for his parents and their love, and he still missed those who were now separated from him by that thin line between life and death.

But beyond his parent's deaths, there was something else about Halloween that made Harry distinctly nervous. He had a secret.

As he walked along, he noticed something white glowing in the distance. It was too large to be a flashlight, and as Harry adjusted his glasses and squinted into the darkness, he felt dread clench in his stomach, like a tightly wound spring. If that was what he thought it was…

When he reached the glowing light, he knew he'd been right. A glowing white person hovered just above the sidewalk ahead of him. He braced himself as it moved toward him, his heart pounding faster and faster. This was not the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last. But it didn't make receiving messages from the dead any easier.

This time, it was a young girl wearing a plain dress with a sash. Harry did not recognize her. But, then again, each Halloween, the spirits that came and spoke to him were never ones he knew. The spirits of the dead were different from the ghosts he'd seen in his days at Hogwarts. Unlike the transparent, vocal, and sometimes boisterous ghosts that remained on the living side of the world, the dead who had "gone on" were the inverse; opaque, more solid, less talkative. They had likenesses of the people they had been in life, but were somehow more subdued.

This girl was no different. Her eyes were open, but only a pearly sheen swirled where her irises should have been. She drifted closer to him, and her colorless lips formed one word.

"Beware," she whispered.

Harry nodded, but was perplexed. He'd never received a warning before. Worry settled like a weight over his chest.

He was going to say something to her, but she dissipated into a diamond-like mist before he could. When she was gone, Harry let out the breath he'd been holding and began to walk a little faster.

While he was now used to encountering the dead on Halloween, they still made him justifiably afraid. On one night each year, they invaded his life whether he wanted them to or not. They found him, wherever he was, and whispered things. But the worst part was that he was the only one who could see and hear them.

At first, they'd been terrifying enough to keep Harry from leaving the house on Halloween. But once he discovered they only wanted to talk, not torment him, the years had gotten easier. He still preferred to remain close to home, but felt slightly more relaxed as time went on.

This year, Harry decided to venture out to the Dursleys' for Halloween. He'd gotten better at tolerating visits from the dead - surely he could handle it for a few hours. Besides, he'd have company. Ginny was taking Albus and Lily to spend Halloween with Mr. and Mrs. Weasely, and would join him shortly.

The moon that night was a grim red one. As Harry knocked on the Dursely's door and stood beside a lit jack-o-lantern, he remembered something from his divination class - red moons in the wizarding world foretold the discovery of closely guarded secrets. Thinking of Trelawney and her whimsical mannerisms, Harry just rolled his eyes. Her predictions were hit or miss, and Harry wasn't really inclined to take stock in the deeper significance of a cold, distant orb in the black sky. He had enough to worry about already. He felt like that one whispered "beware" was like a sword of Damocles hanging over his head. He felt the impending dread, but what of, he could not be sure.

Dudley and Hannah opened the door in a flood of bright orange light. The smell of pumpkin wafted out onto the porch.

"Harry, you look as though you've seen a ghost!" cried Hannah jovially.

_You have absolutely no idea_ , he thought.

He stepped into the warm house gratefully, handing the couple a bottle of oak matured mead as a gift. He slipped off his coat, straightened his suit jacket, and tucked his wand casually into his pocket. Dudley eyed the motion and nervously adjusted his tie, but didn't startle at the sight of it. Harry didn't say anything; he preferred to have his wand on him at all times. He had a feeling the girl's warning was going to ring true.


	25. The Great Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Halloween at Hogwarts.

The Halloween feast was spectacular. Grinning jack-o-lanterns floated below the darkened enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall. A gigantic red moon shone down on the polished wooden tables, giving everything an eerie glow.

The food was also extraordinary. The great feast comprised of roasted chicken, red potatoes, simmering vats of various vegetables, ice-cold pumpkin juice, warm mulled apple cider with cinnamon stick stirrers, loaves of bread that were still piping hot, and assorted treats, including Amelia's favorite, moon-shaped marble cake.

And among the festivities, there was something that held the attention of all the Hogwarts students. Everyone was abuzz over a few tureens at the center of every table, each with a card labeling the contents.

"Essence of Toad? Eau de Cat? What  _are_  these?" Amelia wrinkled her nose at the smell of dead leaves coming from one of the liquids.

"They're potions," James said nonchalantly, spooning a bit of Scarecrow Surprise into a goblet. "Dad told me about them. They're the tricks to go with the treats on Halloween. Each one of them does something interesting that's supposed to scare you or make you laugh. For example," he paused to demonstrate, as at that very moment John Menton swallowed some potion and immediately turned into a toad, leaving his clothes in a billowing heap on the bench.

"How long do they take to wear off?" asked Scorpius. He seemed vaguely interested, but was focused on prodding a Marching Marshmallow onto his plate with the smooth end of his spoon.

"Not that long," said James. And, just as he said, John reappeared a few moments later, looking wildly disoriented but laughing all the same.

Amelia pushed the tureens away from her, feeling green. "I'll pass, thanks," she said. James shrugged.

"Suit yourself," he said with a devious grin, then swallowed some of his potion. He spat it out immediately, and began to sneeze until bits of hay started to come out his nose. Scorpius burst into laughter, and Amelia just rolled her eyes.

Her gaze fell upon the Ravenclaw table, where Bean, Carly, and Bridget sat. Carly was holding a Cloner above her head and taunting Bean, who was laughing. Given their previous arguments, it looked like Carly was trying to threaten Bean with a minor hex if he didn't take some of the potion. Bean had done the same to her yesterday under threat of a dry-inkwell curse, only she'd had to eat tripe instead.

Bridget had dark circles under her eyes, but smiled brightly at her friends and sipped something out of her goblet. Finally, Bean appeared to give in. He ran a hand through his red hair and lifted a cup of potion to his pale lips. He disappeared into a puddle of robes, and a black cat with flaming green eyes sat in his place, looking rather irritated.

Amelia giggled, thinking of Arthur, her own black cat. She wondered what he would have thought of Bean in this state.

"What do you think, Amelia?"

She snapped her head back around, flinging her blond hair over her shoulder.

"What do I think about what?" she asked blankly. "Sorry, wasn't listening."

"I asked what you thought about the moon," repeated Scoripus.

"It's…red?"

"No, I meant like, do you think it's beautiful? Or scary?"

"I dunno…both?"

Scorpius nodded. "Well, a blood moon is supposed to be a dual omen; it can be good or bad, depending on the person's fate. Some say it's a 'harbinger of secrets that will be revealed'." He made his index and middle fingers into clawed quotation mark gestures to emphasize the point.

James rolled his eyes and sighed. "That's completely ridiculous," he said. "Who told you  _that_?"

"My father," said Scorpius, and then, after a beat, "so it probably is wrong, then. He was rubbish at Divination."

"So was mine."

The boys grinned at each other goofily.

"Erm…what's Divination?" Amelia needed to ask. "Is that like, studying the stars? Because I thought we already did that in Astronomy."

"It's the study of the future. Of predictions," said Scorpius. "It's totally useless, unless you have the Sight." He paused, then said, "Which, apparently, none of the students here seem to have, because Bradley told me yesterday they're all failing the class this year. He said something about tea leaves being evil..."

"Well, Trelawney might have the sight," said James doubtfully. "No one really knows for sure."

"Yeah, I heard she's really weird-"

"-erm, what's the Sight?" Amelia interrupted, feeling lost.

"It means they can see into the future," explained James. "They see what most people can't, basically. They can tell when people are going to get sick, or when they're going to break something, or when their pets are going to die, or whatever. Some people who are more gifted with the Sight can even make prophecies. And if they do, the information gets stored in a secret vault in the Ministry. It's all so that people don't hear the prophecy and decide to do something stupid."

"What kind of stupid?"

"Well, if you heard the world was going to end because we ran out of quills, what would you do?"

"Probably stockpile as many…oh," Amelia said, getting the point. "So Seers are really rare?"

"Yeah, assuming there even are any real ones left," Scorpius said, reaching for a chocolate frog. "It's supposed to be a family thing, but you don't really see many real Seers around."

"Hmmm," Amelia said, gazing back up at the moon. "Maybe you're both right – it's probably ridiculous after all."

"Most likely. But we'll still have to study it. Tea leaves, crystal balls, and omens," James sighed dismally.

Amelia grimaced. "So that's what we have to look forward to."

Scorpius suddenly made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. "Agh, James, I got your dad  _again_."

James casually held his hand out to take the chocolate frog card – the one that proclaimed Harry Potter as the Boy Who Lived. "This is like the tenth one this  _month_! We'll probably be able to mail it soon."

"You know," Scorpius said through a mouthful of chocolate, "I'm kind of looking forward to sending all those Harry Potter cards to Father. If he's disappointed in me already, he hasn't seen anything yet." Scorpius looked pleased, and rubbed the Gryffindor crest on his robe for effect.

"I'm glad you're channeling your family issues into something meaningful," Amelia deadpanned.

And then someone behind them screamed.


	26. The Unexpected Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's not the only one coming for dinner.

Harry, Hannah, and Dudley had just begun their meal when the doorbell rang. Harry frowned; Ginny couldn't be here yet, and the neighborhood was far too removed from the main suburbs for there to be many trick-or-treaters. Dudley looked just as perplexed, but he rose from the table and went to answer the door. Neither Harry nor Hannah could see who was there, but they heard Dudley give a surprised "Oh!" and then a male and female voice giving muffled greetings. Their voices sounded strangely familiar. Harry felt a seed of dread sprout in his stomach. He'd know those voices anywhere.

Apparently Hannah did too. Her face fell and she began to fidget with the pearls around her neck. And sure enough, Dudley led them through to the table moments later, clutching a bottle of wine in his large hands and looking terrified.

Standing behind him were Petunia and Vernon Dursley, whose pleasant, doting expressions soured the moment they beheld Harry sitting at the table.

Harry's wide eyes slid to Dudley's. The cousins exchanged a look of deadly fear and darkly ironic amusement. It was as if they communicated mentally, each saying the same thing:  _Kitchen. Now._

As Hannah welcomed the Dursleys to the table and began serving food, Harry and Dudley immediately made their way to the kitchen on the pretext of opening the bottle of wine. As soon as the door between the kitchen and the dining room was shut, Dudley leaned his back against the refrigerator and closed his eyes. He was muttering under his breath – perhaps praying? Harry turned his back to Dudley and put both his hands on the opposite counter. He let his head fall.

"What are we going to do?" he asked angrily. "Why did you invite them and not tell me?"

"I-I  _didn't_  invite them," his cousin stuttered. "They sometimes like to surprise me. They truly picked the worst time to come over."

Harry looked up and out the kitchen window, where a gleaming white spirit chose that moment to float past. "You have no idea," he said darkly.

"Please do not talk about Amelia," Dudley said. "If they know  _you_  know her, they'll jump straight to the exact conclusion I don't want them to make. They think she's at some boarding school up north. They cannot know about her…abilities. It would ruin everything."

Perhaps it was the bitter memories from his past tugging at old wounds, or perhaps he was just irritated with Dudley, but Harry took issue with this comment.

"Why?" he asked rather loudly, whirling around. "Why would it be so bad? You wouldn't have to lie to them anymore. And I'm sure that if they could tolerate  _me_  living with them and being related to them, they would probably still love Amelia. And if they don't, she'll still have us. Besides, the last time I checked, you were starting to like hanging out with a wizard. If  _you_  of all people can change, maybe they can too, Dudley."

His cousin frowned. "No. We are not going to tell them. Not tonight. That is not up for discussion." His round face was set, and his blue eyes blazed with a defiance Harry had never seen in them before.

"All right," he sighed. "Well…what do they know about you and me? Do they know we're trying to…uh…acclimate?" He didn't really know what to call what they were doing. Were they truly friends now? Had they overcome all they'd gone through as enemies? There was  _so_  much…

"They think we still avoid each other. Which is what I'm most worried about. My parents will have no  _clue_  what you're doing here…we're going to need to sell this so they don't ask questions."

There was a long pause. Anger and frustration and fear pricked at Harry's insides like he'd just eaten a Pepper Imp, but he quelled his emotions. The last time he'd felt like this, he'd been living with the Dursleys, surrounded by people who hated him for what he was and made it very clear. It was enough to make him feel volatile. If he got any angrier, he might accidentally perform magic, and the night would get a thousand times worse. The last thing he needed was to blow up another aunt.

"Fine," he ran a hand through his unruly black hair. "So we pretend…what, that we hate each other? Why am I here tonight? We need a lie. A really good one."

"O-okay," said Dudley, rolling onto his toes and back again and taking deep breaths. "You stopped by because…I was teaching you how to drive. And we don't really get along that well, but we see each other every once and a while. We got done driving early, so I asked you to stay for dinner. You agreed because...you didn't want Ginny to find out you were driving – I know she told you she thinks it's dangerous – and you told her you were working until seven. That way, you can tell her somehow to go along with this when she comes, and she can pretend she found out you lied and you'll be able to leave. I know she wanted to stay, but that is no longer an option tonight."

Harry mulled it over. "It'll do. I'll get the message to Ginny with my Patronus. Just remember: for the rest of tonight, we are not friends." He gave an ironic grin.

Dudley smiled with only his eyes and nodded. "I'll go back to the table, then. Poor Hannah's all alone in there. Make sure whatever you do out there is quick, though. I don't want to get stuck with all the awkward questions. Getting through tonight is going to take both of us."

Without another word, he left, shutting the kitchen door behind him with a soft click. Harry could hear him start up conversation again, and there was a clinking of plates. He walked to the other side of the kitchen, where a glass door sectioned off the house from the backyard. He pushed it open with little effort, and stepped out into the cool night air to conjure his Patronus.


	27. The Black Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun and games until someone turns into a cat.

Amelia whirled around. Carly was standing up and clutching the cat that was Bean in her arms. Bridget appeared to be the one that had screamed. The other Ravenclaws looked rather confused, but then Bridget said, "It's Bean! He won't change back! Something's wrong!"

She was right. As Amelia studied the situation, Bean had been a cat for several minutes now, with no sign of the potion wearing off. His clothes still lay in a black heap on the bench beside Bridget, and Bean's green eyes were staring at them with what might have been shock. There were murmurs and whispers from each of the tables. The blue-haired boy, Teddy Lupin, stood up with a frown.

James, Amelia, and Scorpius began to race to where Professor Suresh sat at the high table, but he had already noticed what had happened. He walked to meet them halfway, his black and green embroidered robes flowing smoothly. As the group approached the Ravenclaw table, the potions master pulled out a flask from his pocket and dipped it into what had been Bean's goblet of potion. "I'll need this for an antidote. Please get him to the Hospital Wing. I have to get some ingredients from the storeroom, but I'll meet you there. Don't worry; he's going to be fine."

He surveyed them all with a critical eye as he turned to leave, his expression something along the lines of,  _Why is it always you lot?_

As he began to walk away, Teddy Lupin followed the professor to the Great Hall entrance, where they began to talk discreetly. Amelia was too far away to eavesdrop, but Teddy looked rather concerned, gesturing with his hands frequently. Then Suresh nodded and turned around, and Teddy made his way back to the Hufflepuff table, looking reassured.

Amelia reluctantly turned back to her friends, who had begun to leave. She saw Bean's clothes still left on the bench, gathered them up, and followed.

The six of them raced along the first floor corridor. Bean meowed uncomfortably, his small nose twitching as he looked around, apparently bewildered.

"Oh, why did you have to go and drink it?" Carly was muttering to him, blowing her black bangs out of her face. "I wasn't  _really_  going to hex you."

Bean meowed again, looking indignant.

"How much of it did he take?" asked Bridget softly. She seemed the most worried of all. She kept glancing around, as if they were being followed.

"Only a sip, just like everyone else," moaned Carly. Scorpius said, "I'm glad I didn't take any of that stuff."

"But why only him?" Amelia panted, clutching a stitch in her side. "No one else had trouble changing back."

James and Bridget shrugged, and they continued on. They passed the suit of armor and the bench where Scorpius had shown them the cloners, and something tugged at the front of Amelia's mind, but she couldn't tell what it was. She slowed, looking for what was out of place there, but she didn't see anything. Making a mental note to check again later, she ran to catch up to her friends.

When they made it to the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey laid out a cot for Bean, who immediately leapt onto the white sheets and curled up into a small, furry ball. Amelia set his clothes beside them, trying her best to fold them nicely.

Professor Suresh arrived shortly after, clutching two vials of clear liquid that he mixed into a dish and set on the bed for Bean.

The black cat sniffed at it tentatively. His eyes moved from the dish to his clothes to his friends and back to the dish. Then he looked up again, as if to say,  _What, are you all going to watch?_

Madame Pomfrey seemed to understand. "Give him some privacy, dears. He'll be just fine. Please return to the feast, we'll send him back up once he's fully recovered."

They were all reluctant to leave, but the nurse was insistent, so they began their walk back to the Great Hall. The five of them were quiet until Scorpius stopped for a moment, bent down, and picked something up.

"What is that?" asked Bridget.

"No idea," said Scorpius, holding it up to a nearby flickering lamp. A gold chain dangled from his long fingers, ending in a large, gold pendant that had a gigantic green gem at its center. There was an inscription on the back of the pendant, but it was in a language none of them could read.

"Whose is it?" Amelia tilted her head to gaze at it.

"No idea," Carly shrugged. "Maybe we should take it back to the feast and see if anyone has lost one?"

But Amelia could already tell from the glint in James' eye that wasn't going to happen.

"I think we should keep it for a little while and find out who's looking for one. If we say we found it, anyone could come up and claim it. We'd have no way of knowing if they were telling the truth."

He said this with such authority that even Bridget and Carly looked rather convinced. Scorpius raised his eyebrows, but pocketed the amulet anyway. No one appeared scandalized, so they continued on for a while.

When they reached the statue of armor again, Amelia stopped walking.

"Hold on a minute, I want to check something."

She walked up to the bench and bent down to examine the loose tile under which she knew several Cloners were hidden. It was still loose. She lifted it slowly.

"What are-" gasped Carly, but James shushed her.

"Hmmm," Amelia said softly, letting the tile snap back into place. "Nothing's changed. Everything is there. That's weird; I was so sure something was different here…"

"What do you mean?" asked James.

"I just had the feeling something was missing here…but I was wrong, I guess. The Cloners are still there."

"Cloners?" Carly frowned. "Why would there be Cloners hidden under a floor tile?"

"No idea," Scorpius said, "but I found them a few weeks ago."

"I'd honestly forgotten about them," said James.

"Yeah, well," said Bridget nervously, "I'd like to get back to the feast. I am not a fan of dark, creepy corridors, especially on Halloween. I always feel like there's something following me." She shuddered.

"Agreed," said Amelia, putting an arm around her friend.

The group proceeded on in silence for a long time, with Bridget whipping her head around every few minutes.

"You don't see that? In the corner of your eye?" she asked at one point. Everyone shook their heads no.

When they finally entered the warm orange glow of the Great Hall, Bridget visibly relaxed, and they separated to find their seats. The feast was nearly over; the jack-o-lanterns and floating candles above had begun to dim and flicker. The atmosphere in the enchanted room was like honey: slow moving, golden, and sweet.

But lurking in the shadows stood a dark shape that no one noticed. It took in the giant tables, the laughing students, the loitering Hogwarts ghosts...and then it found who it was searching for. It watched. And it waited.


	28. That Which Has Been Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from an old friend.

Something was wrong. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he stood in the Dursley's backyard. Hoping it was just because it was dark and he was stressed, he disregarded it and conjured his Patronus in a hoarse whisper. The glimmering stag burst from Harry's wand immediately, and he felt a rush of warm excitement steal through him as he stared at it. The stag pranced back to him, and he whispered his message to it. The stag nodded, and then galloped into the trees beyond and out of sight.

His eyes still burned with the afterimage of his spell, so it took him a moment to realize that the spirit now floating in front of him was not, in fact, an illusion.

Harry jumped back, nearly dropping his wand. The figure before him was tall and imposing, wearing a large wizard's hat and long sleeved robes. But there was something about his face…

Harry's heart was threatening to beat out of his chest entirely.

"What do you want?" he gasped, trying to sound brave and failing.

His eyes kept getting drawn back to the spirit's very familiar pair of half-moon spectacles.

"That is no way to greet an old friend, Harry," whispered Albus Dumbledore.

Harry couldn't speak. He just stared.

"It's been a while," his old headmaster smiled, his colorless eyes somehow twinkling. "I would love to catch up, but I have limited time, so you must listen." His smile disappeared and he became business-like. He began to pace back and forth as if he were back in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. "James and Amelia are in grave danger."

Harry blinked. Dumbledore seemed to take this as a sign to continue. "There is great evil at work at Hogwarts. And you are in the unique position of being the only one who has enough experience to prevent it."

"What?" Harry managed.

Dumbledore stopped pacing and stared at him – even though his ice-blue eyes were now an opaque pearl color, his glance was still the equivalent of an x-ray.

"Surely you are aware that every Halloween you can talk to the dead. You know that no one else in the  _world_  can do that – we are not talking about Parseltongue or any such common talent here. And this is not the only thing you can do, even if you don't know it yet. Where do you think you acquired these extraordinary abilities?"

They looked at each other for far longer than Harry felt was comfortable. His hands were shaking.

"Are you saying this happened because I died in the forest?"

"I'm saying you are able to talk to me right now because of what you did in the year leading up to that very moment. When you faced Voldemort, you were still a Horcrux. Your blood, and his, held your mother's protection. And," he began to pace again, "you became the possessor of all three Deathly Hallows. That," he whispered grimly, "is a very powerful combination."

Harry actually did drop his wand at this. "Do you mean…"

Dumbledore surveyed him from over the top of his spectacles. "Yes. You are the Master of Death."

Still reeling, Harry bent to feel for his wand in the grass as an excuse for something to do. His mind was rushing at top speed.

"What does this have to do with James and Amelia?"

"Your son and Dudley's daughter have befriended Bridget Jacobs. And the spirit world knows  _all_  about her." He shot Harry a meaningful look. "I came to warn you that something is wrong. When you died all those years ago, something happened between the dead and the living worlds – something is stirring. And now your children and that Jacobs girl are about to become part of whatever it is. You, the Master of Death, are the only person with the resources to really understand and fix what has gone wrong."

"How?"

"Start with Brian Jacobs."

"But…what exactly am I supposed to fix?

Dumbledore did not answer. He instead looked up at the moon. Harry grasped for another question.

"But, sir, why did  _you_  come to warn me? I've never seen anyone I knew before."

The old headmaster looked thoughtfully at Harry for a moment. "I didn't want to unless it was absolutely necessary. Both of us understand the pain of seeing those who have passed on and being unable to join them. But I know what family means to you, and I know what you would do to protect those around you. And this is one of those times that those amazing qualities are desperately needed."

Harry felt overwhelmed, confused, and exasperated – this was exactly something Dumbledore would do. "Congratulations, you've got special abilities and you have to save the world with them! Be prepared to face death, dismemberment, and danger, but you're you, so it will be fine! That's all the information you're going to get, so good luck and figure it out!"

He had the urge to say this aloud, but felt it would be unkind. He decided instead to just nod.

Dumbledore looked over his shoulder at the dark line of trees. He appeared to see something Harry could not, and then turned back around. "I must go. I most likely will not be able to contact you again, Harry. I wish you the best of luck." He took off his spectacles and looked at Harry so intensely he felt it. "And, I wanted you to know that I am very proud of you. I said it before, but I'll say it again. You are a brave, brave man."

With that, the spirit dissolved into mist. Harry stood dumbfounded in the middle of the grass, clutching his wand in trembling hands. He was worried now. Worried about James, about Amelia…and this was no simple Auror's job. This was going to be dangerous and Harry didn't have enough information to go on. And so he stood there in the dark listening to the owls taunting each other from the treetops, letting the information and the sheer panic sink in.

He wished, not for the first time, nor for the last, that he could be anyone but himself.

* * *

Dudley was talking nervously to his parents when Harry re-entered the dining room, looking shaken and pale. He was frowning, and the lightning shaped scar on his forehead somehow seemed more prominent.

The cousins exchanged a fleeting look, and then Harry sat down with a composed scowl and helped himself to food that was now a little cold. Dudley clenched his jaw and frowned too.

"Good to see you both," said Harry stiffly, looking at his aunt and uncle and adjusting his round glasses. "It's been a long time."

Uncle Vernon grunted. "Good to see you're still imposing yourself on others after all this time."

"Dad," Dudley cut in at once, but his father ignored him and continued.

"What exactly are you doing now, freeloading?"

Harry frowned. "No."

"Then why are you here?" asked Aunt Petunia, looking at Dudley and Hannah apologetically, as if she was sorry they had to put up with him.

"Dudley was teaching me how to drive. In secret, because I don't want Ginny to find out."

Uncle Vernon muttered something that sounded like, "Doesn't even know how to drive." Dudley sculpted his face into a simpering smirk. "He'll only be here until seven," he said in a placating tone. "He's not staying."

Aunt Petunia looked relieved. Her face was more lined than it had been the last time Harry'd seen her – she looked worn and her eyes were sad and tired. Thinking back to what Dudley had told him about them being on the run all those years ago, he wondered if it had changed her somehow. Made her more hardened, more fearful of magic.

There was a tense moment, but then Dudley changed the subject to drills, which Uncle Vernon leapt upon at once. Harry sat back in his chair, hardly eating. His mind was whirling and he was having trouble staying present in the moment. His thoughts bounced back to his encounter with Dumbledore, to his worry for James and Amelia, then back to the conversation at hand, then back to Dudley, then to Amelia again.

Harry felt himself nearly going cross-eyed before something unimaginable happened.

* * *

Down the table, where Dudley sat, came a boisterous voice that made everyone freeze.

"Look, are you all going to sit around talking about mundane Muggle stuff all evening? I miss Amelia. She was much more interesting than you lot."

Aunt Petunia dropped her fork, and it hit her plate with a loud clang. Uncle Vernon looked so surprised that his eyes were bugging out of his head.

If Harry hadn't been so preoccupied with the circumstances, he might have said that Roland the Chess Piece sounded a little like Phineas Nigellus Black when he wasn't yelling. He spoke with the same pride and sarcasm in his tone, and he talked louder than necessary to make sure everyone was listening to him.

But Harry was too busy watching Dudley to care. His cousin had gone the color of thick ice; he was so pale he was nearly transparent. He reached a tentative hand into his pocket and pulled out Roland. He must have forgotten to take it out of his pocket when his parents had arrived. Harry knew Dudley had taken to carrying Roland around with him, because it made him feel close to Amelia.

No one else moved as he glared at the stone knight in his sweaty palm. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were staring at it in horror, and Hannah had closed her eyes and was taking in a deep breath. Finally, Dudley seemed to regain enough composure to look up at his parents.

" _Muggles_?" Aunt Petunia's voice was just above a whisper. She knew that word well. Knew what it was associated with. Hannah looked genuinely frightened. Uncle Vernon was turning purple in the face, the familiar vein on his temple throbbing wildly.

"You swore," he growled. "You swore she was normal. That everything was  _fine_. No funny business."

Harry could tell this was going to go downhill very fast.

"Dudley," Aunt Petunia seemed to be gasping for enough breath to speak. "Is Amelia a  _witch_?" She said the word like someone would say "murderer" or "criminal".

Dudley didn't need to say anything. His face of sheer terror was enough to make her bury her face in her hands with a strangled sob. Uncle Vernon looked furious. He was muttering, but Harry only caught a few words ("Not in this family… can't… won't"), because his own pulse was beating so loud in his ears that it nearly eclipsed all else. He decided it was time to speak.

"She's a witch, but she's still your granddaughter," he said quietly. Dudley and his parents turned to Harry slowly, as if they'd forgotten he was there.

" _You_ ," started Uncle Vernon. "Did you do something to our Amelia?"

Harry swallowed. "No. There's nothing  _wrong_ with Amelia at all. You have this ridiculous notion that wizards are terrible. That magic is bad! And yet, after all of what you went through, after wizards protected you and Dudley, after I saved him from dementors, you still can't get it through your thick skulls that we are people? Better yet, good people? Your own flesh and blood?"

Dudley was as still as a statue, watching his father's purple face slowly turn maroon.

"Tell us it isn't true," Aunt Petunia said, ignoring Harry and turning to her son.

Dudley shook his head. "And you wonder why we didn't tell you," he said, his face flushed. Hannah took his hand when she saw the rage in him building – it was visible in his eyes, which had gone from baby blue to dark steel. "Your reaction would kill her. You know how much she loves you both. And you love her, don't you?"

The last statement came out as a tentative question, and when Harry heard it, something inside him cracked. Watching Dudley go through this was pure torture. All those years in the past when Harry, on a whim, had sometimes wished a magical child upon his cousin just so he'd know how it felt, came back to him in nauseating waves. How could he ever have thought that?

But Uncle Vernon turned on Harry again. "So is that what you're really doing here? Inserting yourself into this because you and Amelia are both  _freaks_?" he spat. It sounded so cruel, so harsh, even though Harry had expected this reaction. Aunt Petunia even flinched a little at the word  _freaks_.

Harry didn't know what to say. Nothing was going to make this better.

"Harry, I think you should go."

He wasn't expecting it, but the voice came from Dudley. He blinked.

"But I could stay. Help…" he glanced around at the unwelcome faces. Hannah's was softest, but she was still staring at Dudley in support.

"I'm sorry Harry. But…when it comes to family…I need to deal with this without you." His face said the unspoken:  _You're making this worse._

The words ricocheted in Harry's head –  _when it comes to family_ – and he stood up.

"AM I NOT FAMILY?" he roared.

There was a silence. Dudley's face hardened and he stood up too. He wanted Harry to leave, it was obvious.

"I choose them," said Dudley. "We are going to work through this."

"You'd choose them," Harry gestured to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, "when they won't choose Amelia? And you know I always will?"

The cousins glared at each other for what felt like ages.

But then the front door clicked and a shower of gold sparks flew out of the keyhole. The door swung open by itself.

Ginny stormed in seconds later, clutching her wand. She was wearing heavy black boots, a long midnight blue traveling cloak, and her long red hair was billowing behind her. Before any of the Dursleys could even stand up, she crossed the room, her eyes flaring, and slapped Harry straight across the face.

"You lied to me? Driving a car? Are you absolutely mental?" She threw up her hands. "You're going to get yourself killed."

She turned to face everyone else, oblivious to the delicate situation at hand. "Apologies. But we're leaving.  _Now_."

Harry's face felt like it was on fire and his glasses were a little askew; she'd hit him hard. But when he looked at her, she winked. Her hand found Harry's and squeezed. They turned to leave, but then something hard hit his lower back. His hand dropped out of Ginny's and he spun around. Dudley had thrown Roland the Chess Piece at him. He picked it up from the floor and clutched it hard ("Ouch," Roland muttered).

"Take it. And you don't come back," Dudley said, his voice shaking.

"How old are you, five?" Harry held up the stone knight. "Think about Amelia. I know what this means to you. It reminds you of her. You should keep it."

But Dudley pointed to the door. "No more magic. Get out."

Ginny looked confused but didn't say anything. Harry knew it was time to go. He stuffed Roland into his pocket and grabbed Ginny's hand again.

They left the warm house and stepped into the cold night, the door slamming unceremoniously behind them. Although it was just a door, he felt like an entire wall…no, an entire world now stood between him and Dudley.

When they made it down the steps and onto the sidewalk, Harry and Ginny stopped and faced each other.

"That didn't look like it was going well. I didn't realize your aunt and uncle would be there," Ginny said softly, putting a hand to Harry's face where she'd slapped him.

"I didn't either. Tonight didn't exactly go according to plan," Harry sighed. "They found out about Amelia."

Ginny pressed her lips and brought her hands together in front of her. "Oh." She looked worried. "Is that what I walked in on?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm sorry. I didn't have time to tell you the plan wasn't the plan anymore."

"They must have thought I was mental."

"I don't think they minded. They have enough to deal with tonight."

Harry worked his jaw back and forth – it was still sore.

"I hit you pretty hard, didn't I?" There was a hint of a smile on Ginny's face.

"A bit."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Your acting was great, by the way.  _Very_  convincing."

Ginny grinned. "The kids are at Mum and Dad's for a while still. Want to get something to eat?"

Harry nodded, realizing he was still famished. He hadn't eaten much. His stomach was already full of worry and anger. The image of Dumbledore flashed into his mind again.

"Let's go somewhere quiet and private. I have a lot to tell you."


	29. That Which Could Be Mended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia holds the key to mending the relationship between her father and Harry Potter.

Snow came to Hogwarts a week before the December exams. Students clustered around crackling fires in common rooms and cast drying spells on their boots. Scorpius and Amelia ventured outside on a cloudy Saturday afternoon to make a snowman behind the Herbology greenhouses. James had decided to put in a few solitary study hours for Charms. He told them he was still having a hard time with the Unlocking Spell,  _Alohomora_ , which was most assuredly going to be on their exams. Having mastered the spell already, Amelia and Scorpius left him to practice in cozy common room alone.

The crisp air outside was well needed; Amelia felt herself becoming homesick as she remembered snowball fights with her parents at home. It made her think of Christmas. Which she'd be spending with James. She'd miss her friends, though. Especially…

"Scorpius?" Amelia asked, patting some snow onto the snowman's midsection.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing for Christmas break?"

"I'm staying at Hogwarts. My father has to be away on business; he's going to Cairo for an important Ministry job. Mother is going with him."

A supercilious edge had crept into his voice; Scorpius tended to do this when he felt insecure and wanted to compensate.

"Won't you be lonely?"

He gave her a look that was almost as cold as the icy air around them.

"I won't be alone. Bridget's staying too. And Bean."

He didn't answer her question.

Amelia sighed. She pulled out two black gobstones from her pocket, waved her wand over them, and whispered, " _Trabea_." The gobstones trembled in her gloved palm and became black buttons, which she then stuck onto the snowman's face to give it eyes.

"Being alone is not the same as being lonely," she said quietly.

Scorpius bent down to gather snow, conveniently hiding his face. "What does this have to do with anything, anyway?"

Amelia sighed. "Nothing, I just…I'm your friend, and I don't want you to have a miserable holiday."

"I won't be miserable."

He shoved a carrot forcefully into the snowman's face to give it a nose.

Amelia raised her eyebrows but understood: you just didn't push subjects with Scorpius. He was brittle that way; if you were too blunt, he snapped and stopped speaking. You had to be sneaky and gradual when discussing something that bothered him. Something that involved his father.

So, instead of pressing him further, Amelia simply said, "I'll write to you."

Scorpius looked up, surprised.

"Really?"

"Of course."

"How? Your mum hates owls."

"I'll find a way," she said, thinking of Hatherley. Maybe James would lend her his owl for a few days. "I don't like the idea of you just hanging out in the dormitory the whole time. You might go mad if you're in there too long. There's too much red and gold."

He chuckled. "Black _is_  better."

"Maybe. Just please do something fun. You'll be with Bean and Bridget. I think Elise Finnegan is staying too."

Scorpius shrugged, which she took to be a good sign.

When the snowman was complete, he stood up and brushed snow from his mittens. "I'm getting cold. Shall we go in?"

Amelia surveyed their sloppy yet endearing snowman, wanting to add more decorations, but her fingers had become stiff and numb. The tip of her nose felt red and raw.

"All right then," she agreed. "But let's cut through the greenhouses."

Scorpius cracked a sarcastic smile. "Ah yes. There's no place like a room full of plants for a casual weekend stroll."

Amelia blew out a breath. "I see Professor Longbottom and Bridget in Greenhouse One. I just want to ask them some more questions about our pincushion cactus project, since Bridget and I are partners. I might as well do something academic today, especially if  _James_  of all people is studying."

* * *

James was most definitely  _not_  studying.

He'd aced the  _Alohomora_ spell earlier that week. In all honesty, he just wanted some time to himself.

With all the homework he'd been doing, his busy schedule of classes, and the constant running around with his friends, he hadn't had much time to use his father's invisibility cloak. And, despite how social he was, James still needed ways to ease the pressure constantly upon him. If only for a few moments, he longed to be someone other than The-Famous-Harry-Potter's-Eldest-Son-Upon-Whom-Most-High-Expectations-Shall-Infinitely-Rest. He sometimes ached to disappear, shed his skin, and avoid the stares. And now that he had his father's cloak, he could.

Only Amelia knew about the cloak and its power, and James wanted to keep it that way. Somehow, the cloak represented much more to him than just an heirloom. It felt precious. Otherworldly. He had this superstition that sharing it with too many people would decrease its charm.

And so, with his friends decidedly embracing the snow outside, he decided to take the time to explore Hogwarts. He wanted to learn the secrets of the castle and find something new. Of course, he could have roamed the castle anytime by night, but he strongly disliked this idea. Though he would never admit it to anyone, he still felt unsettled after the black cloud had appeared on the train and had later emerged from Amelia's cloner.

Sure, he was a Gryffindor; he was brave and confident. He could probably handle the dark and creepy things lurking in the castle. But James wasn't stupid. Roaming around alone, at night, with an inexplicable shadow on the loose wasn't exactly putting odds in his favor. It also helped that James wouldn't technically be breaking any rules by roaming the castle in daylight. There was practically zero risk of detention. And James, contrary to popular belief, was not a glutton for punishment.

So, it was an easy decision, really. Roam freely, but do it during the day.

After a desperate, mildly exhilarating hour of being lost in a maze of secret doors on the seventh floor, James made his way to the Charms corridor, where he knew he wouldn't get lost. He passed empty classrooms, moving portraits, and dusty tapestries. There were never any students up here on weekends; most people studied in the library, lounged in their common rooms, or went out onto the grounds to let off some steam.

James thought he was alone until he heard voices coming from a classroom up ahead. At first, he thought it was ghosts, but then he heard a noise that sounded like a book slamming shut. He drew closer, taking comfort in the fact that, should anyone look up or peek out into the hallway, they wouldn't be able to see him.

The voices grew louder.

"There's nothing in any of these books."

"Keep looking. There has to be something," said Teddy Lupin. James would have known his voice anywhere.

"I  _am_  looking. But it's not as if this is something we'd study in class. There isn't, like, a guide to this or anything," the other voice whined.

It sounded familiar…James was picturing Bean in his head, but that wouldn't make sense. Bean and Teddy were not friends. They hardly knew each other. They had nothing in common – different ages, different houses, different personalities. Where Bean rarely smiled, Teddy went out of his way to spread vivid joy to everyone around him.

James inched forward until he was standing in the entrance. The door had been propped open. Bean and Teddy were sitting atop desks opposite each other at the front, flipping through books. Large stacks of leather-bound library books also littered the desks and the floor around them.

"Well, we wouldn't need to do all this research if you hadn't lost-"

"It wasn't my fault," groaned Bean.

"It is  _now_. Did you ever think about what would happen if you went without it?"

"I hoped I'd never have to."

"Well, that's about as reasonable as a troll in a bonnet."

"My father is going to kill me." Bean closed another book with a dismal thud.

Teddy's expression changed from mildly frustrated to sympathetic. "If you can't find another one, I'll help you through it. I know it's not the same, but I do understand."

"Thank you."

"When are you going to tell your friends?"

The two boys stared at each other for a long moment. Then, Teddy shrugged in frustration and said, "You're going to have to sometime. It's going to get harder to hide."

"No, Ted. They won't treat me the same."

"I think you underestimate them. But it would be better to tell them now than let them find out on their own that you're -"

"Shut it," Bean cut him off.

"I don't understand what you're afraid of. McGonagall said it was fine–"

Teddy broke off as a loud boom sounded along the Charms corridor.

Peeves zoomed past the doorway and nearly clipped James with his elbow. The poltergeist had just slammed the door across the hall shut with as much force as he could, and he continued to do so to the other doors, cackling evilly and shouting rude words. James realized too late that the boys were about to exit the classroom to see the commotion, and that he was directly in their way. He tripped and stumbled over the cloak, falling backwards just outside the doorway. There was a rush of cool air, and he knew instantly his shoes and ankles were exposed. He stood up hastily and adjusted the cloak to cover them again.

Thankfully, no one seemed to notice – they were too distracted by Peeves' antics. When they realized what he was up to, they went back inside the classroom.

"We should go; it's almost time for dinner," said Teddy, running a hand through his blue hair.

Bean merely made a repulsed face and began to stack his books.

"Oh, it won't be that bad. You really should try and eat something."

James began to back away from the doorway as quietly as possible. He didn't think he could risk eavesdropping any longer, so he made his way back to the common room, his head buzzing with unanswered questions.

When he got back to the dormitory to return the cloak to his trunk, Amelia and Scorpius were still gone. The sun was setting, and it was much too cold to make a snowman now. The drafty windows told him that much. But where could they be? They wouldn't have gone to dinner without him, would they?

He exited the portrait hole, and just as the Fat Lady swung closed behind him, he saw Scorpius jogging towards him, looking red faced and exhausted. When he reached James, he placed his gloved hands on his knees, panting.

"There you are!" he finally managed. "Amelia's in the hospital wing. Come on."

* * *

She was asleep when they arrived. Bridget was sitting in a chair beside her. Scorpius walked back to the foot of the bed and looked up at Madam Pomfrey.

"Is she going to be okay?" he asked nervously.

"She's finally resting," the matron sighed. "We won't know the extent of her reaction until she wakes up again."

James stared. "What happened?"

"She had an allergic reaction to something in the greenhouses. We don't know what yet. She collapsed and started having fits. She vomited and started shaking. Professor Longbottom carried her here," said Bridget.

Madam Pomfrey added, "I've done a few remedy charms. But there isn't much more I can do until Neville does some more research. Allergic reactions are highly uncommon in wizards, particularly with magical plants."

"She wasn't making a lot of sense," Bridget told James. "She kept muttering things, but the words were all jumbled. Her eyes were open, but she couldn't really  _see_  us."

James moved a little closer. Amelia's eyelids were the color of an old bruise. Her hair was tucked underneath her head in a loose braid, and she looked so small. She was trembling slightly, even in sleep. James wondered what could possibly have caused her to collapse. Amelia had always seemed infallible to him. He'd only ever seen her with sparks in her eyes, her hair wild and flying the way it had done when they'd flown on broomsticks over the summer. He always pictured her laughing or eavesdropping or stuffing books into her bag with an air of someone who was busy and loved it.

Seeing her in this state was the antithesis of everything knew about her.

"What about her exams?" Bridget asked in a small voice.

Madam Pomfrey looked strangely grave. "It's a possibility she'll miss them. If she doesn't recover within the next few days, I may excuse her from exams and send her home early."

Scorpius and James both gave her shocked looks.

"I won't know quite yet," she continued hastily, seeing their expressions. Professor Longbottom is doing an assessment first, and I'll be sending an owl to one of the Healers at St. Mungo's for a second opinion."

"Is there anything we can do to help her get better?" James asked.

"You can leave dear Amelia here to rest. The presence of visitors might aggravate her condition; you can come back tomorrow. But I assure you, she's in good hands."

Madam Pomfrey ushered them out with gentle but firm direction. "I don't need you hanging about. You all have spent too much time in here this year already anyway."

As they opened the doors, Professor Longbottom and a thin woman with large, round glasses and a yellow shawl brushed past them into the wing. James felt Bridget pause and look back, but he didn't give it a second thought.

As they walked to dinner, James was already drafting in his head the letter he was going to need to write his parents. He knew Mr. Dursley and his dad were still avoiding each other, but Amelia's illness just might be what could drive them back into each others' paths. For better or for worse.


	30. A Very Ginger Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia recovers, and the Weasley Christmas celebration carries on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another subtle Doctor Who reference here if you can spot it.

Harry sat in his favorite armchair on Christmas Eve, staring at Amelia Dursley, who was asleep in the chair across the room. Dudley sat next to her, holding her hand and watching as James and Albus played a game of Exploding Snap on the floor by the fireplace. Amelia had started out watching the game, but before long, her neck had begun to bend like a wilting flower until her chin was touching her shoulder and her eyes were closed.

She had recovered spectacularly.

Neville had contacted Harry with the news of her reaction to some unknown plant in the greenhouses, but by the time the owl arrived at the Potter house, Amelia was already awake and feeling better. She even left the infirmary that following afternoon and surprised her friends in the Gryffindor common room. She seemed well again, if a little more tired than usual, and had insisted upon taking her exams.

Harry and Dudley came to a delicate truce after Amelia fell ill. After hours of talking this morning, they concluded it simply was no use arguing about magic. If Dudley's daughter was a witch, it really didn't make much sense to shun anything related to her world. If it meant a distant relationship with his parents, so be it. Amelia was worth loving and caring for, and if her grandparents couldn't get past their hatred of magic, they didn't deserve her.

They agreed that hating each other was something of the past now. Harry was ready to start looking ahead. There was so much that they could do if they got along: they could go to Quidditch games, Harry really  _could_  learn how to drive, they could test out George's latest inventions, they could have tea with Ron and Hermione, and Harry could even meet Dudley's work friends (as long as he performed the part of a Muggle well). Besides, James and Amelia were far too close now for their parents to avoid each other at all costs. And so, Dudley and Hannah decided to still spend Christmas with the Potters.

The Weasley family was set to arrive any moment and the kitchen was bustling. Ginny, Hannah, and Lily were baking pumpkin tarts, and Hermione and Ron were busy assembling dinner. The air was full of delicious scents, there were tinkles of laughter every few minutes, and candles glowed softly in the dying afternoon light.

In that moment, it was easy for Harry to imagine that there was nothing in the world for him to worry about. His family was happy, he and Dudley were back on better terms, and there was much to celebrate at Amelia's recovery.

But something still snagged at Harry's mind when he tried to relax completely. He saw the ghostly face of Dumbledore, and remembered what he'd been told under that blood-red moon on Halloween. He thought of Bridget, and what role she could possibly play in the warning he'd been given. James had told him earlier about Bridget's family; she was actually from a pureblood family, but the details were secret enough that she'd told them she was Muggle-born.

What was she hiding?

And, if Harry's children and their friends were in danger at Hogwarts, what were they facing? Was he doing enough to get to the bottom of it?

Dumbledore had said to start with Brian Jacobs. That something was stirring in the dead and living worlds. Something that was probably Harry's fault, and was also his job to prevent. Apparently, he was supposed learn how to use the "extraordinary abilities" that he'd acquired as Master of Death. But he was having a devil of a time figuring out what these abilities even were.

He was a wizard, an Auror, and a father. He didn't want to be Master of anything. But he needed answers. Perhaps it was time to write another letter.

Harry stood up from his chair and walked to his study. It was a small room on the second floor of the house, equipped with a wooden desk and a cage where his personal owl, Thornlea, sat sleepily. A portrait of his family hung on the wall, with James, Albus, and Lily smiling and waving. Behind the desk, a small window looked out over the side of the house and gave a view of rolling green hills. Harry loved this room. It smelled like broom polish and books with a slight hint of Ginny's perfume.

He sat down at the desk, pulled out his favorite quill, and wrote to Brian Jacobs.

The first two letters Harry had sent to Bridget's adoptive father had been met with silence. At first, Harry assumed that the letters had taken a long time to get back, or that Brian had forgotten to respond. But Harry was growing more concerned, and was starting to think visiting him in Salem would become the only option if the wizard didn't write soon.

When he finished writing, Harry tied the letter to Thornlea's leg and gave her an owl treat. He told her what to do and stroked her soft brown feathers.

"I know it's another long trip, but this is important. Please take it to him for me, and make sure he answers. Peck him if you have to."

She nudged him with her beak in a resigned sort of way and departed.

* * *

Christmas dinner at the Potters was a strange event. Arthur, Molly, and George Weasley arrived, clutching wrapped packages to stow under the tree. Teddy, Albus, and James volunteered to take them off her hands, and arranged them around the other gifts.

The Potter boys were nearly finished when they saw Teddy make a sudden movement. He hastily picked up a small package wrapped in blue paper and hid under the tree skirt, blushing profusely. James nudged Albus in the ribs.

"It's from Victoire."

"How do you know?"

"I told you, he fancies her. Apparently Scorpius and Amelia saw them kissing. It makes sense that they'd give each other gifts."

"I still don't believe it. I want actual proof. I want to see it with my own eyes," scoffed Albus.

James' reply was drowned out by Ginny's call that signaled dinner was ready. Everyone made their way to the dining room, where large platters of food sat on fine china in the middle of a long table. Each place set with beautiful golden goblets that had been a gift to Harry and Ginny at their wedding. Ginny lifted hers fondly and made eye contact with her husband, who tilted his glass and winked.

Hermione and Ron sat side by side across from Hugo and Rose, who were busy talking to James and Amelia. Mr. Weasley was seated between Dudley and Hannah upon his own request – he remained fascinated by Muggles. The couple looked daunted by his enthusiasm, but Harry had warned them ahead of time that they might be subjected to a completely benign, if somewhat intense, interview. Mrs. Weasley sat at the foot of the table by the three of them in order to keep her well-meaning husband in check.

Amelia was placed next to James and across from Albus and Lily. They were talking with Teddy Lupin, who was at the head of the table. He was entertaining them with impressions of various teachers.

"Do Suresh again!" begged James. Teddy agreed. He turned his hair a wavy black, lengthened his nose, and gave a wide grin. "Ten points to Gryffindor," he said in a silky voice.

Albus, Rose, Hugo, and Lily looked a little confused. "Don't worry, you'll meet him once you're at Hogwarts," Teddy told them kindly.

He did a fantastic impression of Rita Skeeter next. They all clapped wildly, and as Teddy's appearance returned to its normal blue-haired state, he gave a seated mock-bow.

As they ate, Dudley and Hannah began telling Mr. Weasley about their life. When it got to the subject of their neighbors, they mentioned that the Owens across the street owned a Rhodesian Ridgeback.

"And is that a kind of dragon?" he asked them seriously.

Harry snorted into his water glass and Ginny clapped him on the back as a pretense for soothing his "coughing".

Mrs. Weasley intervened at the sight the Dursleys' bemused expressions. "It's a breed of dog, dear."

"Ah yes. I should have guessed. Muggles can't own dragons – that would be ludicrous. Now," Mr. Weasley said eagerly, "tell me about these Eye Pot contraptions you can listen to music with."

Harry and Ron made eye contact and quickly looked away, trying very hard to laugh silently. Even Hermione's shoulders were shaking.

"It's  _iPod_ , dad," Ginny managed with a straight face.

When they'd nearly finished their pudding, Ron pulled out a big box of Crispin's Wizard Crackers, each one a fat roll of colored paper with a small firecracker hidden inside.

"A colleague from the Ministry gave them to us, so we wanted to share them," said Hermione.

"And who was this?" asked George, looking interested. "Crispin's are the best wizard crackers on the market. That's quite a gift."

"Well, I've been working with the Time Turner experts, and one of the visiting wizards has been over to our house a few times. He took a liking to us, especially after he met Ron. Apparently gingers are hard to come by in his part of the world. But each time he's in England on Ministry business, he stops by."

"He's a bit funny, that man," remarked Ron as he distributed the crackers, "but he has the craziest stories. He seems to think he's been to the moon."

"Well, tell him thank you for us," said Harry.

On a count of three, everyone pulled open a cracker. There were showers of red and purple sparks, cacophonous shouts, and small explosions. When all the smoke cleared, strange and wonderful prizes were strewn across the table. There was a gold rimmed monocle, impressive polka-dot bow ties, silver butterfly hair clips with wings that actually beat up and down, a pack of self-shuffling cards…

Everyone was laughing and examining and swapping along the table. By the end of it all, Dudley was holding a glass Wizard's Chess set, which amused Harry greatly – he thought of Roland, who was currently sitting in a drawer in his office upstairs. James and Teddy swapped bow tie for monocle, and Amelia was clutching a curious crystal marble that no one could see through.

But the real surprise came when everyone realized the crackers had also produced strange red hats instead of traditional crowns.

"Oh, they're fezzes!" said George, looking appreciatively at his own. "I love a good fez."

"Weird," Rose and Albus whispered together. James merely shrugged and put his on. Lily copied him, grinning widely. Once everyone was wearing their fezzes, they took a photograph to send to Hermione's work friend. There was so much red in the picture between the red-haired Weasleys and the hats themselves that the photograph made everyone look nearly the same.

* * *

Christmas Eve slowly drew to a close. Harry and Ginny conjured extra beds for everyone staying the night. Rose and Amelia were sleeping in Lily's room, Hugo in Albus', and Teddy in James' room. The parents slept downstairs. The house was nearly silent until just after midnight, when there was a light tap on the window in James' room. There was a creak as it was opened and shut, a fluttering sound, and then a pair of footsteps made its way into the hall. A second pair came from Lily's room and joined the first.

James slid to the floor with his back to the wall, and Amelia did the same beside him.

"I couldn't sleep – nightmares again," she explained. "Is that another letter from Scorpius?"

He nodded in response.

She read over his shoulder, a frown growing deeper as her eyes scanned the page.

_James (and Amelia),_

_Happy Christmas! Not much time to write, been exploring the castle with Bridget and Bean. Bean's been acting sort of strange lately – I think he might be ill. Bridget's been trying to get him to eat more, but I think she's making too much of a fuss. She's been in the library constantly, no doubt researching any magical ailments he might have._

_One thing you should know is the Cloners are gone. We checked the alcove today, and they were all missing. Don't know why, though. Could be nothing, but I think we should try and find out what happened to them when you get back._

_Tell everyone hi._

_Actually, best not. I don't think your dad likes me much._

_Scorpius_

"The Cloners are gone?" Amelia frowned as James folded up the letter. "You know, I had this feeling they would…I even checked on Halloween, but they were there. Maybe I was right about them disappearing; I was just a few weeks early."

"Hmm, weird," James said slowly. "I wonder why they'd be taken. Do you think someone stole them? I thought we were the only ones who knew about that spot."

"Maybe a student found it by mistake and reported it."

"But what were the Cloners even for?" he said, running a hand through his hair. "What was the point of taking them?"

"No idea. Maybe we'll come up with something. Should we ask Bridget and Carly what they think?"

"No doubt Scorpius already has."

"James, what if the Cloners are going to be used for something bad?"

There was a pause. Amelia let the dark silence sink between them like a drop of ink into water.

"Should we tell your dad?" she finally asked.

"Not yet. He worries about enough already. I don't want to bug him if it turns out to be nothing."

"All right. Are you writing back to Scorpius this time or should I?"

James unfolded the letter again. "I'll do it. I have some questions for him."

Amelia stood up. "Goodnight, then. Tell him I say hi."

"Oh, it's implied. I'm using your parchment. I stole it from Lily's desk earlier."

"Oh, get your own!"

"I have, but it's in my trunk. Yours was just more convenient."

She shot him a look from the doorway to Lily's room, and he returned it with an insincerely mouthed  _sorry_.


	31. Spill the Beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bean finally provides some answers.

Amelia was having a nightmare.

She was being chased by a shadowed figure through a dark, foggy forest. She heard someone screaming her name in the distance, and felt a chilly wind whip around her. She was clutching her wand but couldn't think of any spells to use. Panic rose in stinging waves, like pinpricks digging into her skin.

Then, the images suddenly shifted. She saw a girl with short, auburn hair, then a goblet full of a blood-red liquid, then a vibrant red rose, and then a gigantic green snake. The snake reared at her as if to strike, and as it hissed, Amelia woke with a startled cry.

She sat up in bed in the girls' dormitory at three in the morning. She ran a hand through her blond hair and lay back down on her pillows. She still was breathing hard and feeling anxious. This was the third time she'd had this strange dream since she'd fallen ill. She had no idea what it could possibly mean.

She turned to her bedside table and picked up the strange marble she'd gotten in her Christmas cracker. She'd taken to rolling it across her palms when she was feeling nervous.

Once she'd regained some composure she tried to fall back asleep, but to no avail.

So she pulled aside her covers and put on her warmest socks. She was still in pajamas, but she didn't want to change. If she got caught wandering the school, she could say she'd sleepwalked her way out. Of course, James had an invisibility cloak she could have borrowed, but he was justifiably careful with it, and she didn't want to wake him up to ask if it was okay.

So she put on a sleeping robe, tucked her wand and the marble into a pocket, and left the tower. The Fat Lady didn't so much as stir as her portrait slid open and closed, and Amelia breathed a quick sigh of relief. But as she stood in the dark, drafty castle corridor, and she began to wonder if taking a walk was really the best idea. Who knew what roamed these halls at three in the morning?

Professors, ghosts, perhaps even magical creatures…and possibly that horrible shadow. She touched her marble, rolling it between her fingers and taking a deep breath. She felt an urge to start walking, so she did. If she was distracted, she wouldn't be afraid.

And so she trekked around the castle, the minutes dragging by in agonizingly stoic silence. By some good fortune, she didn't come across another living soul. Amelia kept her hands in her pockets, stroking the marble and feeling reassured. She had a strange feeling she should take a left and pass by Ravenclaw Tower, so she followed it, stopping short when a sight up ahead came into view.

Teddy Lupin and Bean were slowly walking away from the tower. Bean was clutching something in his hands, and Teddy was guiding him slowly down the corridor. Amelia quickened her pace to catch up with them. She worried for a moment that Teddy could report her or give her detention for being out of bed, but she decided it was worth it if she could figure out what was going on. Her curiosity was piqued; she didn't care now what she had to do to quench it.

When she was close enough, she called out to them in a raised whisper. Teddy spun around so fast that his blue hair whipped across his forehead. Bean turned more slowly, his expression grim. He looked paler than Amelia had ever seen him, and he was clutching what appeared to be a small stone bowl. Some sort of dark liquid sloshed at the bottom. He saw Amelia looking at it, and tilted it up and away from her view.

"What in the name of Merlin are  _you_  doing out of bed at this hour?" Teddy demanded. He looked outraged. His eyes were wide, and his hair had turned a furious red. For the first time, Amelia was scared. She tried to stammer out her excuse, but she was quickly realizing Teddy wasn't in a mood to hear it.

"Ten points from Gryffindor. Get back to bed, Amelia. You know the rules."

"I-I just…I couldn't sleep. I've been having these nightmares, and wanted to clear my head. Then I saw Bean, and wanted to know what was happening. Is he okay?"

Bean made a strange face and spit something into the bowl.

"Consider your head cleared," Teddy said coldly. "Please go."

"Please," Amelia began, but was silenced by Bean, who stepped forward.

"Teddy," he said, looking resigned. "She's already seen. It's time she knew anyway."

Teddy gave him a skeptical look. "Weren't you just saying you wanted this to be secret? Professor Hagrid-"

"-I changed my mind."

Teddy raised his eyebrows but said nothing. His hair returned to its normal shade of blue. Amelia looked confusedly between the two boys. Bean spit something into the bowl again and said, "Is there a place we can talk privately?"

* * *

Teddy led them to the nearest empty classroom. They lit a few torches on the wall to give it a dim orange glow, and sat down at one of the tables in the back. Bean put the bowl beside him, staring at it with grim hatred.

"Bean and I have been taking strolls at night because he's gotten sick," Teddy began. "We had approval from the Headmistress and Professor Hagrid, who have been allowing me to administer his care. Bean is in a, well, an unprecedented situation that only I am well suited to understand."

He looked over at the redhead, who nodded mutely. He was fidgeting with his blue and bronze pajamas and looking at Amelia with a mixture of worry and fear.

"You are probably aware that I am half-werewolf," Teddy said casually, as if this were a statement about the weather. Amelia just stared at him. "And part of my…condition requires that I make certain adjustments to my life. I have had to master certain parts of my personality that, in many ways, are a result of my wolf-like nature. As I am one of few people to successfully master those instincts, the staff felt it would be fitting for me to help Bean with his peculiar circumstances."

"Are you saying that Bean's half-werewolf too?" Amelia asked.

Bean gave her an oddly amused look. "No," he said, speaking for the first time. "I'm half-vampire."

She stared. "What?"

"My father is an American vampire from a tightly knit clan. He fell in love with my mother on one of his journeys to London. She was a witch working for the Ministry at the time. It was only after he found out he was going to be a father that he finally told her what he was.

"When I was born, the clan wanted to claim me, but my father refused. The clan wasn't happy about that, so they sent out search parties for me anyway. In order to protect me and save my mother, my father sent us into hiding. He was forced to stay behind with the clan, but gave us a magical heirloom called a Bloodstone, which he said would conceal us from other vampires, and protect me from myself."

Bean frowned, and continued. "As I got older, it became clear why that was necessary. I got increasingly thirsty as I grew up. By the time I was supposed to start at Hogwarts, I couldn't last more than two weeks without the Bloodstone – otherwise I'd want to…well, drink…other people. When I used its protection, I was rendered the equivalent of totally human. I didn't crave blood, and I could focus on classwork as if I was an ordinary wizard. I thought I was going to be fine, so I didn't tell anyone my secret. But I lost the Bloodstone a few months ago, and I've been deteriorating ever since."

He stopped, looking suddenly sick. His face turned a strange shade of green, and he immediately grabbed the bowl and turned away to start retching. He motioned for Teddy to keep talking in his place. Amelia felt sympathetically nauseated, so she focused on the story.

"Without the Bloodstone to cast out the cursed part of him, Bean keenly feels his instincts, and they are attacking the human half of his body. He finds that avoiding human food is better for him than eating it, because when he does eat food," he gestured to Bean, "he gets sick."

"I've only been doing it to keep up pretenses that things are okay. Bridget's been getting nosy," Bean explained sheepishly, wiping his mouth and turning back around. He considerately put the bowl under the table, out of sight.

"Oh Bean," Amelia frowned. "You should stop doing that! If it's making you sick…"

Teddy nodded. "Thank you." He turned and spread his arms at Bean. "You see? I  _told_  you you should stop."

Bean just shrugged them off. "I thought it was worth it to try and fake it, until I could get help."

Teddy took his cue. "Bean came to me after he lost the Bloodstone because he didn't know what to do. Obviously, Hogwarts cannot have a student running around and drinking the blood of his fellow classmates," he said dryly. "So we've been researching ways for him to distract himself from the cravings. They've been getting more intense. But we've found that walks in the dark, for some reason, work very well."

"So you haven't had any blood?" Amelia asked. She couldn't think of anything else to say – it was a lot to process.

Bean and Teddy exchanged a guilty look.

"Well, not any human blood," Bean said slowly. "Are you sure you want to know? It can be a bit…well…"

"I want to know."

"Hagrid's been giving me chicken blood," he said. "It takes away a bit of the edge, and I'm not as ravenous." He smiled apologetically, and Amelia saw two tiny fangs there that she hadn't noticed before.

"Oh."

There was a moment while Amelia tried to wrap her head around all of this.

"Okay, then," she said. "But, Bean, haven't you asked anyone if they've seen the Bloodstone? Maybe someone found it and could give it back to you!"

"I can't do that without raising a lot of questions. The Bloodstone isn't exactly run-of-the-mill. It's ancient and famous, and asking for it would imply that I have a need for it in the first place. It would start a lot of rumors, and I don't really want everyone to know what I am yet. You can probably understand why. There's a bit of a stigma against cursed creatures."

"I do." They looked at each other for a few moments, but then Amelia realized something.

"Bean, does anyone else know? Have you told Carly, or James? Maybe Scorpius?"

"No, he hasn't," Teddy said, looking disapproving. "I've been trying to convince him for ages, but maybe now that you know, he will actually tell them. I think Bean could use some friends on his side."

Bean nodded in reluctant agreement. "I'll tell them tomorrow," he said. "I suspect Bridget already knows. She's checked out so many books that I think she's trying to start her  _own_  library. All kinds of subjects: divination, herbology, wizarding architecture and geology, defense against the dark arts, and even a few on magical creatures. She's bound to have a few on vampires."

Teddy looked exasperated. "You should have just told her. Just think what Madam Pince would do if she knew about all those books just sitting in Ravenclaw Tower."

He paused, and then added, "Actually, it's no wonder the shelves have been so bare. The Hufflepuffs have been complaining about it for  _days_. Typical: first years ruining it for everyone."

Bean just rolled his eyes. "Yes, sorry, Ted. I'm such an inconvenience for wanting to keep my secrets…I'm so inconsiderate. I should have known that Bridget would do the logical thing and stockpile an army of textbooks."

And Amelia couldn't help but laugh at the sarcasm.

They talked for a little while longer, getting through most of the major questions she had.

"Do you hate sunlight?"

"Nope."

"Do you need a coffin?"

"Nope. Myth. I prefer my four poster."

"Do you sleep?"

"Sometimes. If I want."

"Can you turn into a bat?"

Teddy laughed out loud at this one, a deep bark that echoed around the room.

"Nope. Never have, never will," Bean said with a small chuckle.

"So, why did you get stuck as a cat on Halloween? Did that have something to do with all this?"

He and Teddy exchanged a sheepish look. "Yeah…potions like that only work on humans, and since I'm not technically human, I wasn't supposed to drink it. But I didn't know, and I wasn't paying attention. I was wearing the Bloodstone, so I just forgot."

"It was lucky Professor Suresh helped sort it out. But I had to tell him about Bean so he could get the right antidote," added Teddy.

"I have to say, it's a relief that you know. Now I'll have someone to knock potions out of my hands in case I forget again."

They all laughed at that.

"I'm sorry I put you in a position where you felt like you had to tell me, but I'll always be here to help you," she replied, patting Bean's arm.

Finally, Amelia decided the boys probably wanted some peace. She left them with the promise to visit during breakfast, because Bean was planning on telling the rest of his friends.

"I'll be there for support," she promised him.

And so, with her mind spinning, she left to go back to the common room. There was honestly no chance of her sleeping now, but she could at least process everything she'd discovered. Bean, a half-vampire? She never would have guessed.

She wondered what her father would say about this. Somehow, she figured he'd be terrified.

She decided keeping the news out of her letters for the time being was probably a good idea. Dad was still a bit sensitive, now that her grandparents knew she was a witch. In fact, Amelia hadn't heard one word from them since; they hadn't even talked over Christmas. But that was all right, she'd decided.

If she had to march over to their house when she was back for the summer holidays, she would. She'd talk with them; tell them the same things she'd said to mum and dad when she'd been invited to Hogwarts. She'd bring them round.

* * *

When breakfast time came at Hogwarts, Bean, Carly, Amelia, James, Scorpius, and Bridget sat down together to share in the uncovering of a secret.

And, at that very same moment, Thornlea the owl burst through Harry Potter's office window with a flutter of feathers, bearing news from Brian Jacobs that would change all their lives forever.


	32. A Chessboard Needs A Bishop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History tells a darker tale, and Brian Jacobs knows this more than anyone.

Salem, Massachusetts, June 1692

On a warm summer evening, just after sunset, the body of one Bridget Blair Bishops was laid to rest beside the fresh grave of her four year old daughter, Mary. Her long dead husband, Pierre, was buried on the opposite side. Above, blood red clouds split the darkening sky like wounds, and ravens cawed in the distance with serrated voices.

It was a fitting sunset for the burial of a dark witch.

Her surviving son, George, clutched at his uncle's clothes and hid his face, still too young to understand the gravity of the situation at hand. His Uncle Thomas wore a grim expression as he turned away from the grave, but he did not shed any tears for his sister. Some might have said he looked relieved, but it was hard to tell because a bushy black beard covered much of his face.

Bridget, called Blair by most, had been experimenting with dark magic. Muggles and wizards alike knew something terrible was happening beyond the walls of the Bishop house. And when her daughter, Mary, had died in suspicious circumstances, Thomas had taken George into custody and summoned authorities from the Ministry of Magic.

The colonial Ministry delegate, Alexander Belcourt, had immediately suggested imprisonment and trial. The Ministry hearing held under the steel-bar reinforced trapdoor in Benjamin Andrews' magical tavern was the most serious and unprecedented one to ever be conducted in a colony. It was also the most severe.

Confiscated Djinni lamps were pried from under the floorboards of the Bishops house, dark arts books were plucked from the library shelves, and a monstrous Egyptian Scrying Diamond had been rescued from the inside of one of Mary's dolls. All these artifacts, Mary's suspicious death, and several vials of what appeared to be blood were presented as evidence of dark magic.

Blair was sentenced to execution that June, and in the days following her death, the wizards of Salem relaxed, thinking they were safe.

But, in reality, the embers of the first execution of a real dark witch began the rumors. The idea that people could be tried for witchcraft caught on among Muggles, until innocent people began to die because of it. Sensing a threat to their own safety and to the Muggles with whom they shared a town, the wizards eventually performed spells to abate the frenzy and went into hiding. But something dark remained that they could not eradicate. And, to most, it was forgotten.

But the Bishops were not allowed to forget.

* * *

Salem Witches' Institute

History of Pureblood Wizards and Witches

Chapter 4: Dark Magic and Rumors, Page 394

_"In the years following the Salem Witch Trials, Blair Bishops became known as one of the first legitimate dark witches of the colonies; her descendants knew her story well and sometimes seemed convinced that their family was cursed. But the general population of Salem witches and wizards deemed it a well-known but ridiculous hoax, ignoring the strange accidents and hauntings that seemed to plague the Bishops descendants throughout the ages. And by the twenty first century, the fear of Blair Bishops had long since passed into the printed pages and hushed whispers of legend."_

* * *

Salem, Massachusetts, October 31, 2013

Nine year old Bridget Bishops lay fighting sleep in a hospital bed. She could feel the drug-induced drowsiness threaten to crash down on her in a tsunami, but she was too busy still feeling the effects of the earthquake. Her parents were dead, and there was nothing she could do.

It had happened so quickly. And what she remembered couldn't have been real.

_They were in the car, driving home from a dinner out. Then, a strange black cloud appeared in front of them, and her father went stiff and absorbed it. He was frozen at the steering wheel, unable to brake or steer. Bridget's mother pulled out a long black stick from her pocket and lit the car with a brilliant purple color. Their car suddenly flew up from the ground into the air, and then crashed with a jolt back onto tllhe road. They spun in tight circles and bits of glass cut into her arms and face and there were flashes of violet and yellow and red. When it all stopped, Bridget's face was pressed uncomfortably against the window and they were sideways on the road. And then there was nothing, until the white hospital room._

She couldn't remember hearing anything – she knew that couldn't be right, but the doctors had explained that sometimes shock put strange memories in your head. It was just her brain coping with stress and grief.

They'd been in a deadly car accident. Slid on the ice and ran into a guardrail at sixty miles per hour, according to the police report. And according to her doctors, there hadn't been a black ghostly mist, or magic wands, or strange flashes of light.

Bridget knew she was alone. And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling she wasn't the only person in her room. Something sat in the shadows, just out of reach, waiting. But, she thought, perhaps she was still just seeing things that were not real. And as she drifted into a tear-filled black oblivion, she held onto the three things she knew for sure.

Her parents were dead.

She was not.

And there was no such thing as magic.

* * *

Salem, Massachusetts, 2015

Something was wrong with Bridget, according to Brian Jacobs. His adopted daughter had become uncharacteristically secretive and quiet. He wondered if perhaps she was being bullied at school. She'd recently started at Cygnets School for First Year Witches, and with every day, she withdrew a little more into herself. Brian thought she would have been thrilled to study magic; her parents had been magicians and it meant she could follow in their footsteps.

Of course, her parents had lived as Muggles since Bridget had been born. She'd had no idea she was a witch, which was a shame, because she came from a very powerful pureblood family. Even Brian knew the legend of Bridget's partial namesake, the dark witch of Salem.

But since starting at Cygnets, Bridget seemed so unhappy. So stoic. Almost as though the Bridget he'd gotten to know over the past year was being hollowed out like a pumpkin and being replaced with someone else entirely.

It had all started when Bridget had begun to learn about the Blood-Status Wars in school. She read books about Harry Potter and Dumbledore's Army, and about Voldemort and Deathly Hallows and dark magic. Perhaps it had scared her a bit, Brian thought. When she woke up with nightmares of black ghosts smothering her in her sleep, he tried to read stories to her until she relaxed. But every time he chose something other than the Tale of the Three Brothers, she worked herself into a panic until she was almost inconsolable. Eventually, she'd refused to hear any tale but that of the Deathly Hallows.

It was aggravating to see her in such a state – and for what reason? Brian wondered if maybe she had post-traumatic stress from the accident. Losing one's parents was a tragedy. And he and Helen did what they could to console her. The only thing they refused to do was pull her out of school. She'd be too lonely if she were homeschooled. So she continued to attend Cygnets, and things seemed to reach a sort of stasis.

But then, odd accidents began to happen to the students. Sami Henshaw contracted a strange type of cursed fever the nurses hadn't seen in years. Paulina Fey fell down three flights of stairs and broke her arm and two ribs. Frightening messages about the end of Cygnets and the Salem Witches' Institute appeared on the walls in blood. The ghosts that haunted the halls deserted the place, congregating in small spaces on the outskirts of campus and weeping. They specifically enjoyed clustering in the bathrooms and, irritatingly, Brian's office.

And then, that spring of 2015, tragedy struck. Just before class started that day, Tabitha White was discovered dead in the upstairs potions lab. When it was found that her death had been brought about by the killing curse, the school shut down. The principal couldn't allow teaching to continue when the lives of their students were threatened. The building closed its doors, and only the faculty was allowed in for guard duty and to find a way to make the school safe enough to reopen.

No culprit was ever identified.

But Bridget was in pieces over it. She ranged from temperamental to angry to depressed. Her nightmares became worse and worse. One fateful night, she woke up to see a gigantic black cloud hovering over her face, and she screamed loud enough to wake up Brian and Helen.

After two pots of tea and seventeen lit candles and a casting of protective enchantments around the house, Bridget fell into a fragmented asleep, but her new parents realized sending her away from the terrible memories she had in Salem might be the best for her wellbeing. Perhaps she'd be safer away from all the strange happenings if she were across the ocean. So the Jacobs arranged for Bridget to transfer to Hogwarts, where Helen and Brian had distant relatives who could care for her should she need anything.

In July, just before Bridget left for England, strange things began to happen behind the locked doors at Cygnets. A chandelier in the museum fell from the ceiling and shattered the office wing of the building. There was a major theft from the dark antiquities exhibit, which was reported to all the international Ministries. Apparently, Harry Potter had in fact investigated the theft, but that had been before he and Brian had met.

Bridget left at the end of July, and decided to stay with Brian and Helen's relatives, who lived mere minutes from Diagon Alley. She sent her adoptive parents a festive letter telling them she'd arrived and that she'd met some friends; one of them was actually Harry Potter's son, James. Brian figured she was back to her old self after leaving Salem behind.

After she started at Hogwarts, she still wrote weekly, but her letters became somewhat anxious. By Halloween, her letters became stoic and impersonal, almost like journal entries. She never signed them "with love", but simply scrawled a loopy cursive  _B_  at the bottom. Helen pretended it didn't bother her, but Brian knew it did, just a little. They thought the distance was making Bridget homesick, and she just didn't want to tell them so.

But something still felt wrong to Brian.

And when Thornlea, Harry Potter's owl, arrived in Brian's study for the third time in a whirl of soft feathers, he sighed heavily. Perhaps it was time he told Harry his hunches.

Resigned, he pulled out parchment and a quill to start the lengthy letter to Harry Potter. He conveyed what he knew in regards to the Institute, which wasn't much. However, he described his suspicions utilizing the history of the Bishops family and Bridget's radical change in behavior. Perhaps Harry Potter would be able to solve the dark mystery that shrouded his adopted daughter. It was nearly midnight and his white candle was at its dredges by the time he finished the letter. He sealed it and stamped the wax with the Jacobs family seal, and sent it the next day with Thornlea.

* * *

Potter Residence, England, 2015

Harry received a reply to his letter sooner than he expected. Eager to read what Brian Jacobs had written, he tore open the letter after giving an exhausted Thornlea a treat and an absent-minded stroke for a job well done. After perusing the contents Harry sat back in his chair in solemn contemplation.

The chessboard of events was starting to take shape in his mind, but the news from Brian was worse than he had ever imagined. Whatever spirit was haunting Bridget hadn't stayed in Salem, as Brian had assumed. It had followed her across the Atlantic to Hogwarts.


	33. Secerno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to visit Hagrid and attend a Defense Against The Dark Arts class - two awesome things crucial to the Hogwarts epitome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things should be starting to add up for you about Amelia's secret! I'd love to see your guesses for what's going on.

Amelia, Scorpius, and James decided to visit Hagrid a few weeks before Easter. Sometime after Christmas, Scorpius had started to come with them for those small afternoon teas in order to meet the professor his friends kept raving about.

Their visits followed the same sort of formula, where Hagrid would enlist their help with some of the creatures he was using for Care of Magical Creatures class for the third years and then offer them tea.

"It's to give yeh a little extra preparation fer when yeh have to take my class. Yer all going to be experts," he'd say happily, and then he would lead them to the grass space behind the pumpkin patch and gesture like a circus ringmaster displaying his most fantastic trick.

Usually the creatures he showcased were terrifying, like Spurging Serpents that had tails like barbed wire, or nifflers that had a tendency to bite you if you were wearing shiny earrings (which Amelia discovered in a rather painful manner). Sometimes Hagrid's bigheartedness did in fact extended to something truly cute…like pygmy puffs or even, once, a unicorn.

But then there were days when his revelation left them all perplexed. And this was one of those days.

As Amelia, Scorpius, and James rounded the corner behind Hagrid's hut and made their way through the pumpkin patch, the sun illuminated two black shapes. Amelia saw what looked like two foals with skeletal looking features and enormous, bony wings. They were too small to be frightening, especially because they were frolicking and rolling around in the brown grass the way puppies would. But Amelia imagined that, if full grown, these creatures would probably be terrifying. For some reason, they seemed oddly familiar. Perhaps she'd seen one in the forest when they had had detention…

She glanced at Scorpius and James, both of whom looked utterly bemused. Hagrid carried on talking to them, oblivious to their reactions.

"The parents were found dead in the Forbidden Forest, so I took in the two little ones in. I'll have the class take care of 'em for a few months. Once they've matured a bit I'll let 'em loose in the forest again. But that place is dangerous for 'em if they can't defend themselves."

"Er…what exactly are they?" Amelia asked politely.

"Yeah…what are we supposed to be looking at?" James frowned.

Hagrid surveyed the three of them with eyes that looked suddenly old but waited until they were leaning against the wooden fence posts before he said, "What do yeh see?"

Scorpius and James both said "Nothing," at the same time that Amelia said "Freaky winged horses."

And then the three of them stared at each other in surprise.

"Where do you see horses?" asked Scorpius.

"They're right there. How do you  _not_  see them? There are two."

" _Where_?" James was craning his neck.

"Right there! Right in front of you." Amelia said, feeling exasperated. Honestly, were they blind?

"Those," Hagrid said softly, "are thestrals. They're winged horses. Rather reclusive and quiet. But what's special about 'em is they can only be seen by people who've witnessed death."

"So that's why Amelia can see them, but we can't?" Scorpius looked taken aback.

"But…" Amelia said, struggling to understand. "I  _haven't_  seen death."

"You haven't seen anyone die?" James asked, rather boldly.

"No."

"But then…"

"How can I see these?" she gestured to the thestrals, who had finally realized they had an audience. One gave a squeak of delight and bounded over to the fence. Amelia stuck out her hand and it nuzzled against her with its velvety nose.

The boys stared at her hand moving against empty air with a mixture of fear and jealousy. "Okay, yeah," decided Scorpius, "this is weird."

"I didn't think any of yeh would be able to see 'em, but thought it was worth checking. They're marvelous creatures. Friendly, despite how they look." Hagrid patted Amelia on the shoulder gently, but her knees still buckled slightly under the force of his enormous hand. "But are yeh sure yeh haven't…well…seen…? It's the only way…"

"I'm sure," Amelia said confidently. She would have remembered something like that. Right? Maybe there'd been a mistake.

But the thestral nestling against her palm was no mistake. She could definitely see it. Its blackness and bones and wings were all there. It stared at her with its glassy, orb-like black eyes.

If what Hagrid said about these thestrals was true, she really  _had_ seen death. But why wouldn't she have remembered?

"Don' worry about it," Hagrid told her kindly. "Maybe yeh were too young to remember it." He paused, and seemed to decide that their time with the thestrals was probably at its end. "Shall we go in for tea?"

They safely seated themselves inside Hagrid's hut, clustered around a pot of strong tea and his infamous rock cakes.

"Hagrid, did I ever tell you we sent a package to my father?" Scorpius said conversationally. Hagrid's bushy eyebrows almost united as he frowned.

"No."

"We put a bunch of Harry Potter chocolate frog cards in a box and mailed it to him a few weeks ago."

"Why're yeh tellin' me?"

"Because we're making him another one, and we want you to help us," said James with a mischievous grin.

"Look," Hagrid said, lumping sugar into his tea, "I know Draco has a lot of Slytherin pride, and I know he's been sort of frosty to yeh this year…"

"That," Scorpius said with a grim laugh, "is an understatement."

"But that doesn't mean yeh should antagonize him," Hagrid finished. "He's probably just not sure what to say to yeh – he doesn't know how to relate since yer not in Slytherin. He can't share the same secrets about his common room or send you Slytherin heirlooms…he's probably sad that he doesn't have a way to connect with yeh."

"Hagrid, I understand that, but my father has always been a git." Amelia and James both snorted at this, but Scorpius continued over them. "This shouldn't be news to you. You knew him when he went here. I've heard the stories."

"Maybe he was, at first," Hagrid acquiesced, "but he's learned a lot since the Battle. He's changed, Scorpius."

"He isn't really showing it. I haven't heard anything from him since he told me not to come home for Christmas since he'd be travelling. So I'm trying to send him a message. The cards were the first step. I want him to accept me as I am, not as the apparent failure of a son he sees. I'm in Gryffindor for a reason. I'm friends with a Potter and with a Muggle-born," he nudged Amelia affectionately, "and I don't intend to live my life according to all his expectations."

Hagrid sighed heavily, "Scorpius, yer too young to understand how the battle changed everyone. I can tell yeh: the people who fought there saw death up close. They learned people from different houses died the same deaths. So don't yeh go assumin' things yeh don't know."

Silence surrounded the four of them as they digested Hagrid's advice. It made them feel uncomfortably young and foolish. However, Hagrid's words of wisdom didn't dissuade Scorpius.

"I know my father. He'll listen if we do this. Could you please just give us some extra rock cakes so we can send them to him?"

Amelia and James gave Hagrid their best doe-eyes.

"Fine," Hagrid sighed, "but just don't do anything too rash. He still loves yeh, even if he's not great at showin' it. What all is in this package, anyway?"

"Well, Scorpius has already been mailing his father letters every week, written on Gryffindor stationery," Amelia supplied, "but we are putting in a whole set of the house parchment so that he can respond to Scorpius appropriately."

"It's supposed to be a subtle hint for him to start answering Scorpius' letters," said James.

"There are also some more Harry Potter chocolate frog cards and a signed affidavit stating that I am indeed friends with his son," Scorpius said, nodding to James, who smiled. "Plus, we're hoping you could give us some rock cakes. I know Father was never very kind to you, and honestly I'd like to tell him that I think you're awesome. Because it's true, and he knows it, deep down."

"That'll rankle with him," protested Hagrid. "What yer doin' is childish."

"We're eleven," James reminded him. "We  _are_  children."

"We want to trigger a response, which is what I want. We need to talk and he's being infuriatingly quiet about everything."

"Even if that response is a howler, which is a possibility," added Amelia.

"One which we'd all personally love to see…" snickered James.

"I hope yer sure yeh know what yer doin'," Hagrid said, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he put several rock cakes into a bag for them.

* * *

The following day was very busy for the trio. They had double Potions with Suresh, followed by Herbology with Professor Longbottom. They'd transitioned to Greenhouse Two after Amelia had reacted to something in Greenhouse One, but for some strange reason Amelia still left each of Longbottom's lessons with a slight headache. It could have been worse, and she found that they subsided after about an hour, so she didn't say anything, but it did make her wonder what on earth she could possibly be allergic to.

There seemed to be a lot of things about her life now that she didn't quite understand: her friend was a half-vampire, she herself was allergic to some kind of magical plant, and she could see some kind of horse that was invisible to James and Scorpius. Not to mention the fact that if Harry Potter's most recent letter to James could be believed, another one of her friends was probably being haunted by some kind of evil spirit. She and her friends now avoided walking around the castle alone, and never left the common room after dark, just in case.

Amelia had expected that studying magic would change her life, but she never really expected that it would change  _this_  much.

After lunch, they had Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Ravenclaws, and when they reached the classroom, Professor Dean Thomas was waiting for them with a smile. Amelia had always loved this class because it was one of the few she excelled at, but she looked forward to it even more now that she knew something shadowy was lurking around at Hogwarts, looking for Bridget. Amelia liked the idea of defending herself from whatever it was.

"Today," began Professor Thomas, "we will be studying the  _Secerno_  spell. It's a form of protection against dark magic that acts as a stimulus of fear. When cast correctly, it stops the advance of a foe by becoming a harmless physical symbol of something the attacker fears. The spell is impenetrable, and the person must either banish or come to terms with their fear before moving any closer, which gives the caster ample time to escape.

"Surely you remember this from your reading last night, but the  _Secerno_  spell is a very simple form of magic that is used as an obstacle against robbers of banks or shops. We teach it to first years as preparation for when you meet your first boggart during your third year."

Elise Finnegan gave a timid squeak at this, but Professor Thomas didn't seem to hear her.

"It's also a reasonable spell for children to master in order to protect themselves. However, it has sometimes been used by dark wizards upon Aurors in the past. It's a spell that has a reputation for being simple, and most adults overlook it, which means any dark wizard could use that to their advantage.

"Go ahead and practice the wrist movements on the board  _without_  saying the incantation. I'll give you five minutes, and then we'll do the same with just the incantation,  _not_  the movement."

The class descended into bustling chatter as they practiced, and when their time was up, Thomas instructed them to practice the incantation in the same fashion.

Finally, once they seemed to have the theory mastered, the students were instructed to pair off and practice casting the spell and banishing it.

Bean and Scorpius became partners, as did Amelia and James. Bridget and Carly stood in the far corner, with Bridget looking rather nervous. Amelia felt sympathetic. What if her greatest fear was that ghostly shadow? What would she do?

But Amelia couldn't get distracted now. James was ready to cast the spell on her, and she needed to be prepared.

Sure enough, James called, " _Secerno_ ," and something red appeared in the air between the two of them. Amelia knew at once that it was a red rose. But…why?

Feeling disconcerted, she said, " _Vincere_ ," and the rose vanished at once. James grinned. "Nice! But why are you afraid of roses?"

"No idea," Amelia said, feeling confused. "It wasn't scary."

"Oh," James frowned. "Do you want to try me then?"

"Yeah."

She cast the charm on him, and a gigantic tarantula floated in the air between them. James paled for an instant as the legs twitched horribly at him, but then he recovered himself and banished it with a powerful brandishing of his wand.

"Nice one, James," called Professor Thomas over the heads of Bridget and Carly. He was trying to help Carly, who seemed to be cowering away from what looked like the entrance to a dark forest. Apparently this had been going on for a while, as most of the other groups had seemingly finished and were observing quietly.

"I can't do it, I'm  _really_  afraid of the dark," she kept saying. Her hands were shaking too hard for her to make the proper wand movements to banish it. Bridget appeared to be rather relieved that she hadn't had to fight the spell.

Amelia glanced back at Scorpius and Bean, where Bean was struggling to hold himself together: in front of him hovered something that looked like a goblet, but she was too far away to tell. Scorpius was encouraging him – "Come on, just banish it already!" and finally Bean was able to do it. He wiped the sheen of sweat from his pale forehead. When Amelia turned back around, Carly had successfully banished her fear.

Everyone seemed to have something that truly did scare them. Perhaps Amelia wasn't thinking hard enough about what she was afraid of? Or maybe her rose was a symbol for something she didn't quite yet understand.

Nevertheless, she was able to conquer the spell easily. She could cast it just as effortlessly, so she felt that she was worrying needlessly. She chalked it up to just one more mystery she'd have to live with.

But later that night, as she sat on her bed and idly smoothed Arthur's velvety fur, her curiosity still kept her up. And as she stared out her window, she could see the lights from the castle dispelling the misty darkness. And, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a thestral soar across the sky, its skeletal wings made silver in the moonlight.


	34. Blood Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry must be truly desperate to ask him for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter. The descriptions of dark magic may be a little mature for younger audiences. Nothing above the level of horcruxes and inferi in books 6 & 7, but it's still dark magic, so I'm putting a warning just to be safe.

At two in the morning, a light went on in the Potter cottage.

"Harry, what's wrong?" whispered Ginny. But Harry did not answer.

He was standing between the bed and the window, silhouetted in the moonlight. He appeared to be distracted by something in his hands, and whatever it was making him anxious. Ginny could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Harry?"

But there was still no reply. Ginny watched him carefully, unsure of whether to disturb him or let him think in silence, eventually giving in to the latter.

Harry was holding one of George's Cloners out flat in his right palm, and Dudley's chess knight, Roland in his left. He stared at them with a heavy frown, trying to determine what his discovery meant. When compared side by side, the stone types of the two objects were identical. They were definitely both made of white scolecite, a common mineral capable of absorbing magic. If Bridget Jacobs had been followed to England by some kind of spirit, could it have been absorbed into something like a Cloner?

He thought back to what he'd learned about Salem from Brian's last letter. About Bridget and her family. What if the key to capturing the spirit was by using scolecite?

But, then something occurred to him. Regular ghosts were unable to be absorbed by Cloners. The stone only absorbed magic. If Bridget's spirit shadow was a ghost, scolecite wouldn't work…

He pondered this for another few minutes. He needed more information about the magical materials, and about the dark magic itself. Both would be critical. Perhaps there was someone he could ask. Maybe someone who knew about the kind of dark magic Blair Bishops had performed.

Then it occurred to him. The answer was so obvious – he was frustrated he hadn't thought of it before now.

"Ginny," he finally replied, turning back to her and trying to flatten his unruly hair. "Everything's fine. But there's someone I need to go see."

* * *

The Ministry of Magic was a winding and maze-like place. With multiple floors and whimsical elevators whisking people back and forth, it was often difficult to find a moment of peace in such a bustling and haphazard environment. However, Draco Malfoy's office in the Department of Materials was probably the most remote place in the whole Ministry. Buried underground in a sub-basement, the Department of Materials was an offshoot of the Department of Mysteries. Rather than deal directly with the strange artifacts the Unspeakables managed, Draco's main job was to write a report on each artifact and document hypotheses on what it was for. He also rented out special equipment to people who needed it, and researched magic-imbibed objects.

He sat in almost total silence, sheltered away in a dim office that housed three people. Usually, he was the only one who worked during the day, and the only sounds in his office were typically the scratching of his quill on parchment and the rushing noise of heated air. No one disturbed him from his work, and his work was fairly easy.

In other words, the Ministry had placed the ex-Death Eater in a place where he could cause as little trouble as possible. There was literally no way Draco could do any damage more serious than a papercut.

The office was quiet as usual as Draco sat, pondering the brick wall in front of him. His back was to the door, and he was counting down the minutes until he could go home. There were still three hours left in his shift before Warren Bates, the evening shift chronicler, would come and relieve him. It felt like an eternity.

He let the rushing silence wash over him like a wave. Perhaps he should be more grateful. He was lucky to have a job at all. After the war, many Death Eaters had been tried for their crimes and sent to Azkaban. Including his father. But Draco had been exempt – he'd been forced into the Death Eaters at a young age and was subsequently held blameless by the Wizengamot during his trial. He'd escaped Azkaban for a dank basement doing paperwork, which, when he thought about it, was not a bad trade.

Though he still bore the Dark Mark on his arm, it had faded more quickly than those of his parents. Perhaps it was a sign that he really hadn't wanted it in the first place. His pale skin was eager to get rid of the taint. By now, it was only detectable on his skin if he squinted and looked very hard for it.

However, he understood more than most that some scars were invisible. That didn't mean the damage was less severe.

An unusual sound startled him out of his thoughts. There were soft, clicking footsteps coming from behind him, and he could hear the swishing of robes. He had a visitor.

"Good afternoon," said the person behind him.

Draco did not turn around. "If you're looking for the Department of Mysteries, it's one floor up," he said dully. "Don't feel bad, everyone misses the sign. For some brilliant reason, it's written in invisible ink."

The visitor cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm here to see you."

He frowned, considering who could possibly want to see him. Probably some Auror. They were always asking to borrow things on their missions.

He swiveled around in his chair slowly to find Harry Potter standing in the doorway with messy hair and long, elegant robes. While this was not the first time Potter had come to see him, it was the first time he seemed rather nervous. He was picking at his sleeves, and there were dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep.

"Oh, it's you," Draco sighed. Picking up a quill, he added, "What do you need to borrow this time? The last mission you went on cleaned us all out of trans-continental apparition apparatuses, I'll have you know."

"I don't need to borrow anything this time," he said unapologetically. "Erm, could I…sit down? I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Draco masked his surprise and gestured expressionlessly to a straight-backed wooden chair on the other side of his desk. "Sure."

"Thank you," Harry sighed, sinking into the chair with a billow of black and gold robes. "I have to confess, I didn't really think I'd find myself here, but honestly I need your assistance with something. I think you're the only one who can help me."

"What exactly do you think I'll be able to do? My experience in this job is rather limited," he replied acerbically. "I mean, I could always  _file_  something for you-"

"-Oh, drop the attitude. This concerns both our sons and is a matter of extreme importance. This takes precedence over our petty feud."

_Petty feud?_  "Potter, I just don't particularly like you. That's not a feud. It's simply loathing."

"Can you set aside your feelings for a few minutes? Please?" He sounded frustrated. "Merlin knows I am certainly trying."

"For Scorpius? Fine. I do care about him. I know you probably don't think so. James has probably told you I was disappointed he wasn't in Slytherin and that I haven't been the best communicator." Draco put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands, staring patiently over them at Harry. "But the only reason for that was I didn't want to influence his choices. I wanted him to make his own friends and find his own way in Gryffindor. I never had that luxury and wanted to make sure that he does."

"You don't have to explain yourself to  _me_ ," Harry said kindly. "But I think Scorpius misses hearing from you more than you think he does. You should tell him what you just told me."

_All right. Enough with the sentiment_ , Draco thought. "Okay. On to your questions, Potter. Does this have something to do with that black shadow? The thing that attacked Scorpius on the train? He's been keeping me informed about everything, even what he's found out about Bridget Jacobs. He has also been sending me ridiculous care packages, but that's beside the point."

Harry gave a small, amused smile and nodded. "Yes. I think the spirit that attacked Scorpius followed Bridget from Salem. I've spoken to Bridget Jacobs' father about the fact that the same thing happened there last year. And yesterday I came to the conclusion that whatever happened to Bridget in Salem was the cause of some kind of malevolent spirit. It has followed her to Hogwarts, and I'm very worried about what could happen if nothing is done about it. The last time it was loose in a school, someone died."

There was a pause as Draco took all this in. Perhaps there was more danger afoot than he'd realized. But…

"Why do you need me? You're Harry Potter. The Chosen One. After facing down the Dark Lord, this should be nothing to you."

"Don't," said Potter sharply, looking down. "Don't call me that. And you don't know what you're talking about."

"All right. I'm sorry," Draco said, feeling a little guilty. "But what exactly do you think I can help you with?"

Harry pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it over. On it was a list of different materials, and three objects that sounded vaguely familiar. He recognized them from the Daily Prophet…they were involved in some American burglary.

"I need to know about the following materials, objects, and spells. Everything you know, everything the department has. And then, I'd like to hear everything you know about the Salem Witch Trials. Since you're a pureblood. I want to know what legends have risen from that time in history. And I have to ask  _you_  for these things, Draco, not anyone else. You have access to all that information, and you have a unique perspective on the wizarding world."

"Why not ask Weasley for that? He's a pureblood."

"The Weasleys didn't know anything out of the ordinary, I already asked. But…well, given your family's history with the Dark Arts, I wondered if you knew anything that didn't make it into the average textbook."

Draco felt indignant. "We don't have those ties anymore. I've made sure of that. I don't want Scorpius to have his world polluted with dark magic. Not like mine was," Draco snapped. Harry looked surprised, but also a little impressed.

"I know you have, and I don't mean to dredge up old memories. I'm sorry. Believe me, I didn't want to ask, but I need to know."

Draco sat back in his chair, regarding Harry cautiously. He felt ashamed for his outburst over dark magic. He was usually very quiet about his inner thoughts on the matter. It was a matter of personal pride – he hated to think that his family's reputation would follow Scorpius like a shadow. He was trying to pave a new way for his son, despite how difficult it was to change the opinions of the wizarding world.

This was a very strange request, but not the worst he'd ever had. Once, last summer, he'd had an eccentric fellow in a fez stride into his office, point a wand with a glowing green tip in his face, and demand to see all the remaining time-turner devices. It had been so abrupt and out of the ordinary that Draco had simply obeyed, even though proper protocol was to send them upstairs to Hermione Granger's office first.

He glanced at Harry's list:

_White Scolecite_

_Dark Magic in Salem/Legends about Blair Bishops (Bridget's ancestor)_

_Items stolen from Salem Muesum: Egyptian Scrying Diamonds, Djinni Lamps, Japanese Dark Arts Books_

_Hogwarts Express Construction Repairs_

_Gringotts Bank Construction Materials_

"This is quite a strange list," Draco said, all acid in his tone replaced by concern. He looked at Harry with a serious stare. "What does any of this have to do with Scorpius and James?"

"I've been thinking back to all the times I saw Bridget before Hogwarts. She was at Gringotts when the lights went out, and she was on the train when Scorpius got attacked. In both situations, the lights flickered out. Then they saw the spirit for the first time. I think that the items stolen from the museum might also have something to do with the dark magic afoot here. I'd like to know if there is some kind of dark magic that requires any of these items. The more we know about what Blair Bishops did in Salem, the closer we'll come to the truth."

"All right," said Draco, scanning the list again. "Well, I can tell you that without a doubt the scolecite was used in both Gringotts and the Hogwarts Express to repair damages after the war. It was also used to repair the school itself. I saw the reports when they came through. Apparently it was chosen specifically because it can absorb magical traces like a Cloner. The builders wanted to make sure any unwanted magic stayed out without preventing the use of magic in everyday settings. It was a protective measure."

"How does scolecite distinguish wanted and unwanted magic?"

Draco smiled. "It doesn't. It absorbs all of it eventually, and the inner side acts like a barrier preventing its immediate escape. But, either after several hours or using certain spells, the absorbed magic is released. It can either be left alone to dissipate inertly, or it can be reused, like what George Weasley did with his Cloner device – you say a password and it will regurgitate magic it has absorbed. I've even seen scolecite used in chess sets before to animate the pieces."

Something sparked in Harry's eyes. "I see," he said. "So it only absorbs magic, not spirits?"

"In all the research I've seen, only magic."

"Interesting."

Draco looked back at the list. "Now, the items stolen from the museum in Salem are more interesting. I actually handled the chronicling of the robbery here, so I remember. The Djinni lamp doesn't have any magical uses since the Djinni race died out. It's at best just worth a lot of gold. But the scrying diamond…I'm trying to remember…I'm pretty sure it's used to find someone and see what they're doing. Right at that moment. If you know the name of the person, you can search for them and see their real-time image in the crystal structure. And the dark arts stuff…" Draco paused, rifling through a desk drawer and pulling out a file. "Here are the names of the books that were stolen. It's all about blood bonds, apparently."

"Blood bonds?" Harry opened the file and rifled through it.

"Nasty stuff. They're a form of dark magic that no one really uses anymore – they're too horrible even for most dark wizards. A blood bond requires the sacrifice…well, the sacrifice of your natural born child," Draco said heavily. "Basically, you curse your descendants by using dark magic to bind your soul to your blood relatives. Then, after you die, your soul can take control of anyone you're related to for a few moments. You can manipulate their actions for a short amount of time before needing to leave the body to rest. You can't technically die; you remain as a shadow, a shade. And, if the connection between your soul and a descendant is strong enough, the soul can eventually rise from the dead and inhabit a living body permanently. It's a bit like possession."

Draco said this calmly, but realized how awful it must have sounded to someone who wasn't as aware of the dark arts as he was. Harry was staring at him with an open mouth and pale face. "That's horrible," he said hoarsely.

"That's dark magic for you," Draco said honestly. "You thought horcruxes were bad? This is worse. It's binding yourself to every living descendent you have, and then stealing the body of your great-great-great grandchild by slowly effacing their soul and replacing it with yours instead. It's horrifying. I told you people don't really do it anymore. This is why. Even dark wizards have their limits. There are some things you're just not supposed to do."

Harry was even paler now. "You're right. I think this is the first time in a long time we've agreed on anything, Malfoy."

They shared a weak laugh.

But then something terrible occurred to Harry and he dropped the file he'd been holding. The papers scattered across the tile floor, but he didn't pick them up. He instead was frozen, thinking back to what he'd read in Brian's letter. Bridget's parents had died in an automobile accident caused by the driver. Perhaps her father had been possessed momentarily to cause the crash?

What if the shadow that haunted her afterward wasn't a shadow at all…but a magical imprint of a person? If that was true, the magic could have been absorbed by scolecite. By a Cloner, perhaps, then unwittingly carried beyond the protective walls of Hogwarts and released...to eventually find its way to-

"Draco…I know you said people don't do this kind of magic  _anymore_ …but what if someone did it a long time ago?"

He didn't answer, so Harry continued. "The creation of the blood bond happened centuries ago. And now she's searching for her host at Hogwarts. You know who I'm referring to?"

Draco was sure Harry was right and was afraid of the consequences. He let the dreaded answer slip out of him in a hiss.

"Blair Bishops."

They stared at each other in horror, and the silence of the room turned sinister.


	35. Seeing is Believing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth about Amelia finally surfaces.

Neville Longbottom stood at his desk late at night, his head bent over at the book framed by his flat hands and three lit candles. Professor Trelawney stood peeking over his shoulder, holding her own dripping candle and looking impatient.

"Well, is she or isn't she?" she asked.

Neville remained quiet, pressing his lips together. The words in the book were pure fact. Harmless, even. But their implications were earth-shattering. He'd been researching for weeks, months...he'd seen this book countless times and read through it. He'd disregarded the answer at first, thinking  _that can't be right..._ but things were different now. It was the only explanation. And, now that he knew the answer, he wished he hadn't found it. Hogwarts was a unique place, but he wasn't sure the school was ready for  _this_.

"I don't even understand how it's possible. I thought this ran in families."

Trelawney shrugged. "You can never predict magic with too much certainty. Otherwise life sinks into the doldrums, Neville."

She always had a way of making things melodramatic, he thought. But he was too worried to ruminate on this. Boring or not, magic was about to potentially ruin the life of someone he deeply cared about.  _Multiple_  someones.

"Why is it always me? Why do I have to be the one to tell her?" he muttered under his breath, flipping forward a few pages as if it would change the outcome of what he was to do.

"What was that?" Trelawney asked, adjusting her shawl. She smelled overpoweringly of incense and cooking sherry, and it was making it hard for Neville to think clearly.

"Uh, nothing. I just...want to be sure. This isn't something to take lightly."

"I am well aware," she said stiffly.

"You're  _sure_  it was the divining roses?"

"Oh yes. I experienced firsthand - the reaction is just as terrible to feel as it is to behold."

"And there's no other possible scenario to explain her symptoms?"

"Of that I am certain," Trelawney huffed. "Do you doubt my expertise?"

In Herbology? Yes. But Neville trusted his own research. And he trusted Trelawney knew what she was talking about when it came to this. After all, her experience was personal.

"No," he said softly. "It's just...she's so young."

"Youth does not mean weakness, Neville. You may find she will be accepting and strong."

"I know," he sighed. "But I'm afraid it will be a burden. She's only eleven."

"It  _is_  a burden. There will be horrors in her future, and she probably already has seen things well beyond her maturity level. But she will bear it, regardless of whether or not you tell her who she is. You must make sure she is prepared."

"I know," he said again, closing the book and blowing out the candles. "I just wish it hadn't come to this."

* * *

Amelia was dreaming again. She saw the same images as before: a gold cup, a green snake, a bunch of sickeningly sweet red roses…but this time something was different. This time, it felt more real. The images were less blurry; they were more of a memory than a dream. There were more images now, and more sensory details. This time, she could smell the fog as she ran through a dark wood, and she could feel her breath rake against her dry throat.

But, just as something raced at her viciously from out of the dark trees, she awoke with a start, flicking her eyes upward to stare at the drapes of her four-poster bed. She told herself she was safe in Gryffindor Tower. There was nothing to be afraid of.

Except there was.

A letter from Harry Potter had arrived late last night. Its contents had sent James into a frenzy - he'd started packing to go home the moment he heard about what was probably happening to Bridget, only to find a warning at the bottom of the letter to stay put and pretend nothing was wrong. The letter had asked the trio not to tell Bridget anything. It would make her panic, and might make her vulnerable to attack by whatever was following her.

Apparently dark magic was involved with whatever shadow was haunting Bridget, but the letter didn't share too many specifics. It was probably too gruesome to share with eleven-year-olds. Nevertheless, Amelia, James, and Scorpius didn't like be kept in the dark. Something terrible was going to happen – that much they knew – and Bridget was their friend; they didn't like keeping secrets from her after she'd been through so much.

"So I was right, it did have something to do with what happened to her in Salem," Scorpius had murmured, his eyes skimming over the sentences, picking up words like "casualty" and "haunted" and "closed the school."

"When did you ever say that?" James had given him a funny look.

"Never aloud..."

"Yeah, sure. I think you just like to be right."

"Guys," Amelia had chided. "Not really the time."

They decided to follow Mr. Potter's instructions to keep the information a secret between only them, although it still bothered Amelia that Bridget wouldn't get to be part of the plan.

Amelia sat up abruptly and looked around, but then realized she was holding something. She opened her right palm to find the white marble she'd gotten over Christmas. She must have fallen asleep gripping it tight - for some reason, this had been happening a lot lately. Amelia found the marble had a comforting element to it, like a worry stone, and assumed that with all her recent anxiety she had taken to holding onto it in her sleep.

She placed it on her bedside table, nestled behind the spine of her book so it wouldn't roll off while she got ready for her classes. After dressing, she tucked it back in her pocket.

She walked into the Great Hall for breakfast and spotted James, Scorpius, Bridget, and Bean sitting together at a distant table. She made her way over to them, casually diving to avoid a collision with a book that was being tossed across the aisle before stepping over an owl nibbling tossed carelessly on the floor. While she was well used to this kind of chaos at Hogwarts by now, she had a feeling that her first breakfast back home with her parents was going to be comparatively tame.

"You overslept," said Bean, surveying her as she finally sat down across from him. "I was wondering if you were going to miss your classes."

"I woke up just in time. Sorry," she told them.

"It's fine. We waited for a little while, but then Claire said you were still asleep so we left. She set an alarm charm for you, but it looks like you woke up before it went off."

"What makes you say that?"

Scorpius smiled. "An alarm charm dumps water on your head."

Amelia patted her curls self-consciously. "That would have been bad..."

"Claire has a sense of humor, I'll give her that," James said. "It sounds like something I would have done."

"You  _have_  done it. To me," Scorpius objected indignantly. Everyone laughed at this, even Bridget, who had been morose and reticent for days. It was almost like she was a completely different person than the girl they'd met in Diagon Alley. Amelia surmised the stress was getting to her, and felt a pang of guilt that she couldn't tell her friend anything they'd learned.

She heaped food onto her plate, noticing Bean's was empty save a goblet full of something red. She didn't have to guess what it was. He was sipping it slowly, regarding everyone's full plates with a disgusted shiver.

"Any luck finding your amulet?" she asked.

"None so far…" he said sadly. "Haven't seen a priceless ancient artifact around anywhere, by chance?"

"No," she smiled apologetically.

"It's okay. Bridget is still looking up antidotes in the library, and Teddy's still helping too. It takes a village sometimes, right?" he said, in an attempt to be good natured that just barely failed.

He took a begrudging sip from his goblet, and something about the gesture echoed in Amelia's mind. Hadn't she seen that somewhere before? It was like déjà vu, but not quite; it was like she'd dreamed it and it was now actually happening. Bean had been in her dream last night, clutching something gold with a repelled look on his face…maybe that was what she'd been thinking of? Was it a prophetic dream? But then the feeling of familiarity passed again, and Amelia was left feeling rather silly for thinking her dream had told the future. She was being ridiculous.

She ate quickly, realizing that some of the eager Ravenclaws were already leaving to go to their first class. As she and her friends finally stood up from the table, a firm but gentle hand fell on her shoulder.

"Miss Dursley," said Professor Longbottom kindly, "may I have a word in private?"

* * *

Amelia sat, feeling perplexed and flushed, at an empty desk in a deserted classroom on the first floor. There were two people standing across from her, positioned before the large oak desk at the front. One was Professor Longbottom, who was wearing velvety green robes and an uncertain, nervous smile. He was searching in one of his pockets to make sure his wand was still stowed safely. Amelia knew he was often forgetful, and somehow this movement made her more comfortable. It made the professor seem more human, more relatable. If anyone else had grabbed her shoulder, she would have assumed she was in trouble, but his presence reassured her she was not.

The other person in the room also confirmed that Amelia was not here for a disciplinary purpose. Standing before her was a strange woman she'd never met before. Professor Longbottom had introduced her as Professor Trelawney. Apparently she preferred to stay up in the tall towers of the castle, so she hardly ever interacted with students outside of her classes. Despite this, Amelia knew who she was from James and Scorpius, who intermittently mentioned her. She remembered talking about the professor on Halloween, when the subject of prophecies had come up.

But Trelawney was not at all what Amelia had been expecting. In her mind, she'd pictured the professor as boisterous and laughing, with long shiny black hair and a generous grin. But the bespectacled, frizzy-haired woman before her was the complete antithesis. She was bony, withdrawn, and timid, with a downturned mouth. She was draped in three different shawls, each a different shade of purple. There was a heavy scent of incense that permeated the air.

Perhaps that was why Amelia found herself developing a headache as she waited for the two professors to explain what she was doing there. She stuck her hand in her pocket and rolled the marble between her fingers.

"I'm supposed to be in Charms class by now," she said cautiously. "Is something wrong?"

They shared a look and then turned back to her. Professor Longbottom took a weary breath and began.

"Amelia, do you remember when you fainted in the greenhouses just before Christmas?"

"Of course," she said, rubbing her throbbing temple. "It's not easy to forget."

"Well, since then I have been researching the plants in the greenhouse that might have provoked some kind of allergic reaction for you."

Amelia knew this, but had long ago forgotten. She'd just added it to her list of ongoing mysteries, although Bridget's predicament had most recently taken precedence over her own strange ailment, whatever it had been.

"Did you find anything?" she asked hopefully. "Am I allergic to some kind of magical turnip?"

Professor Longbottom looked oddly pained. "At first, I couldn't find any connection, but last night I came across a definitive answer…" He trailed off, glancing at Trelawney in an  _anytime you want to jump in_  kind of way. She just gave him a blank stare, and he exhaled sharply. "Amelia, you're allergic to Divining Roses."

He flinched back a little, as if expecting Amelia to have some sort of outburst, but she still sat there, feeling underwhelmed. "Oh," she said. "Is that it?"

"Amelia, do you know what Divining Roses are used for?"

"Of course, you had us do an assignment on them. They can be made into a tea that stimulates prophetic dreams. So…if I'm allergic to them, I should just stay away from them, right? And obviously avoid the tea?"

Professor Trelawney's wrinkled face puckered in trepidation. Professor Longbottom hesitated then said, "Not exactly. The situation is a bit more serious than you imagine."

Amelia's headache was growing worse, making her feel impatient. "What do you mean?"

"Amelia, being allergic to Divining Roses is uncommonly rare," he continued. "There have only been about five confirmed cases of reaction in Britain in the past  _century_."

"Oh."

"And what can be established from those cases is that each of them had one thing in common. They were all Seers. Only those who can predict the future have this particular allergy. Amelia, your reaction symptoms perfectly match those of an allergy to Divining Roses and nothing else. This has lead Sybill Trelawney and I to conclude that…well…"

"You think I might be a Seer too?" Amelia felt the room start to spin. Her lungs felt too small – she couldn't get enough air to fill them properly. "But…I can't be…I'm just. I'm just me. Just Amelia. I'm not-"

But then somebody grabbed her hand. It was Trelawney. Her bony fingers were surprisingly warm and comforting.

"You  _are_ ," the woman said, her eyes made gigantic from the magnification of her glasses. "And you are not alone."

Amelia didn't know what to say. There was a soft buzzing in her ears from the shock of it all.

"Some may consider me a fraud," Trelawney continued dramatically, "but I know how to recognize the Sight. And you, Miss Dursley, have it."

Amelia was glad she was sitting down. "So…if I am…what you say I am…what does that mean? Where do I go from here?" She really was at a loss. What would her parents say? What about her grandparents? She was already a freak to them…a witch…what would they say if they knew about  _this_  too?

_Stay quiet. Be normal._  The words from her childhood echoed in her head again…too bad she could never really be normal now. Not knowing this. Not  _being_  this.

Trelawney gave her hand another comforting squeeze. "The art of Seeing has been in my family for generations, and I will gladly share this respectable and lofty tradition with you. You can train with me. I will teach you how to control your gift, to use it, even to suppress it when it becomes too much to bear. While I may have never trained another Seer before, I have taught many students, and think I might be of some help to you."

She nodded slowly, not knowing how else to respond. She was going to need help. This was big news. It was like in one of those old cartoons where somebody drops an anvil on the hero's head. But, unlike a cartoon character, Amelia wasn't sure she could bounce back from something like this without some outside help. She had never been too proud to ask for assistance. That might have been something James or Scorpius would avoid doing, but not her. She knew she was in way over her head and was practical enough to acknowledge when she needed a life raft.

The part that scared her the most was that being told she was a Seer actually did explain a lot. There were things in her past she had always been unable to rationalize. At those times, she'd assumed it was just magic, or a fluke. And…there was one specific memory that stood out to her now, illuminated with new light. She knew she'd Seen something before. Something important.

She didn't remember  _doing_  it, or what she saw. All she knew was that everything had gone a bit fuzzy in her brain for a few seconds. But she remembered what had happened after she regained control of her body. She saw her father's scared, sallow face; her trembling mother spilling lemonade on the white carpet. And then three days later, a call came that confirmed it. Aunt Marge was dead of a heart attack. According to what her parents had told her later, Amelia had even predicted what Marge had been wearing, right down to the locket at her throat with a photo of her prized dog, Ripper, inside. She didn't remember it, but she must have Seen it.

She'd never told anyone about that prediction. It could have just been a really big coincidence. But it had shaken her parents badly. After the funeral, her father had started to wonder if she was peculiar somehow, like her father's relatives. Amelia had begun to hear the first stories about his weird recluse cousin named Harry, the one they never used to talk about. She knew her father had started asking him things in letters, and then in furtive meetings. It wasn't hard to guess that he and Harry were discussing  _her_.

When she found out she was a witch, Amelia thought that being magical explained everything strange about her, once and for all. But she learned early on that, at Hogwarts, no one else had predicted a death. That kind of magic wasn't normal. So she stayed quiet about it. She tried to be normal.

She thought about the strange inkling she'd received about the missing cloners…she'd felt it months before they actually went missing. At the time, she'd thought she was just being paranoid. But if she was a Seer, maybe she'd foreseen it and not even realized it.

How many times had this happened? Had the Sight driven her into Bean and Teddy's path in the middle of the night? Were her dreams actually predictions? How much had she overlooked because they were just "weird feelings" or "dreams"? What was reality and what was the future? Amelia wasn't sure anymore.

But as she stared at the two professors, she realized she was going to have help. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad. If she could get a better handle on this ability, maybe she could tell her friends and her family. Maybe they wouldn't be scared. Maybe she could make this a new normal for her life.

She swallowed her fear and willed her hand to stop shaking against the hand holding it. A fire began to burn in her blue eyes as she looked up at the kind face of Professor Trelawney. She took a deep breath.

"When do we start?"


	36. Truth and Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dudley Dursley takes the news rather well.

Dudley and Hannah Dursley were beginning to feel overwhelmed. Their phone had been ringing off the hook all morning, and that wasn't even the worst part. Three fluffy owls had flown in through the open kitchen window in quick succession, scaring Hannah so badly that she'd gone and barricaded herself in the downstairs bathroom. Dudley had been left to untie the letters strung to their proffered legs, and now that the owls had departed, he was sweeping the feathers into a dustpan with a nervous expression on his face.

"Hannah, you can come out now, dear. They're gone."

"Are the feathers gone too?"

Dudley looked down at the dustpan and hastily dumped the contents into the bin. "Yes."

There was a click as she unlocked the door and inched carefully back into the kitchen. "We're going to have to disinfect everything," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah."

It was quiet for a moment before the telephone rang again. They both knew who it was and why he was calling, but neither of them particularly felt like answering. After the first news had come the day before from Amelia's letter – thankfully, Hatherley the owl had delivered it before Hannah was awake – there was a strange silence between them as they pondered what this meant for their little family.

For Dudley, the discovery that his daughter was a Seer was not exactly a surprise, but it was unsettling. He vividly remembered when she'd predicted Marge's death; she'd spoken in a voice that wasn't her own, and her eyes had bugged out of her head. She hadn't remembered doing it afterward, but her words had scared Dudley badly.

Many months ago, Harry had told him about the professor he'd had who was also a Seer; he'd described her predictions offhandedly, never thinking Dudley would know exactly what he was talking about. At the time, the similarity to Amelia's strange behavior had startled Dudley in a way he couldn't articulate. He'd been unsure how to ask Harry if Amelia was one of those people; he didn't want to divulge a secret that wasn't his to share. He'd probably been too obvious in his interest in Seers as it was; there'd been no point in pushing the subject any further.

He'd tried to put his speculations out of his mind, but there was something about having a daughter who could see the future that was innately terrifying. What if she predicted his death next? Or Hannah's?

The phone finally stopped ringing and the voicemail machine clicked on to take a message. It was Harry again. The wizard had been calling them for hours now, asking them to meet with him to discuss Amelia. "Like I said in my past  _six_  messages, James and Amelia sent me an owl too, Dudley. I really think we should talk about everything. Besides, I have some rather unsettling news to tell you too, and I'd prefer to do it in person," this last message said. "I know you're there and you're avoiding me while you figure this out. I understand that, but we really need to talk. Call me back."

Hannah sighed and went to open the three new envelopes the owls had delivered. One was from Amelia, telling her parents not to worry. The other two were from her friends, Scorpius and James, telling them it really wasn't that big a deal, and that everything was going to be fine.

"Children are so optimistic." Dudley shook his head when they both had finished reading. "I don't understand it."

"Maybe they're right, though," she replied thoughtfully. "Maybe we're making this into more than it is."

"Our daughter can predict the future. That is definitely not normal."

Hannah laughed good-naturedly. It was the first time she had in a long time, Dudley realized. "She's a  _witch_. Normal flew out the window a long time ago. Who knows; maybe this thing she has will be useful. She could possibly save lives with her gift!"

Dudley looked at his wife, knowing she was right. He sighed and said, "All right. Maybe. I guess I should phone Harry, then. Get this over with."

He picked up the cordless phone, but it rang in his hand before he could dial. Spooky. He and Hannah gave each other a look, and then he answered.

"Harry, I was just about to call you. You have good timing." But the voice that responded wasn't Harry's.

"Dudders, it's  _me_."

" _Mum_?" He made a face and Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why are you calling?"

"Is everything all right? I just…had a feeling. I miss you. How are you? How's Amelia?"

"Everything is fine. Amelia's still a witch, if that's what you're asking," he said tersely. "And we're currently dealing with something pretty important, so if you wanted to argue more, I don't really have time for that today."

There was a static filled sigh and then Petunia said, "I know. Look, I feel awful about everything. I think with all the surprise and with everything our family has been through with those – people – it took me some time to realize how wrong I was."

"And this is supposed to make things better?"

"No, and I don't expect it to. I just wanted to let you know how I felt. I want to start being part of your lives again. This is one step of many."

"Does Dad know?"

"He doesn't know I'm calling. Please don't tell him. He's taking longer to come around."

Dudley took a calming breath. "Mum, look. I appreciate you're trying to make amends, but this isn't really the best time. Try and get Dad to come to his senses and then  _maybe_  we can meet for breakfast or something. Goodbye."

He hung up, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"I'm going to call Harry. Once I'm off the phone, did you want to get anything for lunch?" he asked his wife.

"I'm not really hungry," she said.

"Neither am I." He'd been worrying about Amelia so much he'd hardly eaten in two days. If this kept up, he was going to be skinnier than Harry by the summer.

* * *

They met in the park by Dudley's house. Harry was waiting for him on the bench by the lake, wearing Muggle clothes but rolling his wand between his hands, covertly watching the ducks as if expecting one of them to attempt to murder him. Dudley knew Harry's work was sometimes dangerous and required he be alert at all times, but this was borderline ridiculous.

"The ducks are harmless, you know," he said as he sat down. Harry ignored this. "I've set up enchantments so no one will overhear us."

"What kind of enchantments?"

"Scrambling charm. Muffling charm. Shield charm. I could go on…"

"Please don't. Why is this necessary? Nobody's here."

"Dudley, we can't be too careful. Muggles aren't supposed to hear what we talk about, and you never know who could happen to walk by. So the enchantments are necessary. Unless, of course, you'd like the whole neighborhood to know that Amelia's a-"

"-Fine," Dudley muttered. "You wanted to talk. Let's talk."

Harry appeared satisfied. "Right then. Amelia," he said, looking into Dudley's eyes with unspoken intensity. "How long have you known what she can do? I suspect you maybe had ideas before she ever started at Hogwarts."

"Well," he stuttered, "I only just found out for sure, but she made a prediction a few years ago."

"How did you know it was a prediction?"

"It was about Aunt Marge. How she  _died_ , Harry." And then his cousin seemed to understand. He ran a hand through his black hair, revealing his dormant scar. "I see," he said. "So when you asked me about Seers when we were at coffee a few months ago-"

"Yes. After that I was pretty sure."

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. His face was hard to read, but he looked genuinely concerned.

"Probably more okay than I should be. Part of me wants to panic, but that wouldn't do any good. This is a part of who she is, just like her magic."

The cousins discussed what could or should be done to make her feel safe and cared for. With Trelawney's apparent offer to help, Harry seemed confident that Amelia would be in good hands to control and tame her power.

"Trelawney's not technically the mothering type," Harry offered, "but she knows what she's doing. She's certainly capable of helping, as long as Amelia can look past all the weird."

The mention of mothering brought Dudley to a halt. "I heard from Mum today," he said, remembering their conversation from this morning. Harry swallowed, looking nervous. "And?"

"She wants to apologize for how they reacted to Amelia. Dad's still not budging, though. I told her that I wasn't interested in anything they had to say unless they came round together. If that ever happens, I was thinking maybe they should apologize to you too."

"They're  _your_  parents, Dudley. I'm not going to get involved in this. It's not my place."

"It's probably never going to happen anyway," Dudley said sadly. "If they acted this way because she was a witch, what would they say now that she's-"

"Let's give it some time," Harry said wisely. He looked angry, but seemed to be controlling it. Dudley had grown to better understand why Harry disliked Petunia and Vernon so much, and knew what the rejection of their love must have felt like to him. It was hard to watch the same thing happen to Amelia. And if it was going to happen again just because she could see the future, both Harry and Dudley wanted to spare her a double dose of anguish.

"You're probably right. Distance is probably a good idea right now anyway. I have enough on my plate as it is."

"Well, it's about to get worse," said Harry grimly. "I have something to tell you, and there's no easy way to say it."

Dudley raised his eyebrows, prompting Harry to start talking.

"It's sort of a long story, and I wasn't even going to say anything for a while in case we could figure out things first, but recently, something's come to light. And I think it's time you knew the full truth about something. It will help you understand things about me…and Amelia…a little more."

"Harry, just spit it out. We're past the point where you have to warn me when you start talking about magic, I think."

"This is different," he protested, rubbing his hands together thoughtfully. "Amelia and James are in danger, and so are their friends. And what's happening at Hogwarts to make things so worrisome…well, I finally know what it is."

"Explain."

"Well, the first thing you need to know is that it was partially my fault. And in order to explain what's happening now, I need to tell you a little more about what happened when I was still at Hogwarts."

"Harry, seriously. Just tell me."

After a deep breath, Harry began.

"In the wizarding world, we have rules; laws for how magic is supposed to be used and laws against casting certain spells. There is Dark Magic; there are some things people are never supposed to do, because they require horrible sacrifices or bring misery to the victims. And there are some evil spells that can be used to prolong someone's life. I've told you already about Voldemort and his quest for immortality, which is a good place to start in all this. You know about unicorn blood and the sorcerer's stone and how he obtained a body again with my blood." Dudley shivered as he remembered. "Well, that wasn't the only thing he did to ensure his survival. He performed one of the most brutal acts imaginable – he created horcruxes."

Harry watched his cousin's face carefully as he explained what a horcrux was and how it was made. Dudley knew his face betrayed his pure disgust and shock, but didn't know how to hide it.

"He split his soul into  _seven_?"

Harry flinched slightly at this, as if he was debating whether or not to say something else, but he seemed to think better of it and simply nodded. "He split his soul multiple times, concealing each piece in a valuable item. And during my sixth year of Hogwarts, Dumbledore and I went on a search to find one of them. Of course, it ended up being a disaster; the one we found was a fake…and there was also this plot to murder the headmaster, but I'm not going to get into that now. Basically, what you need to know is that after Dumbledore was killed-"

"Wait, he  _died_?"

"Yes, he was killed, but it's sort of complicated-"

"Well you can't just say something like that and not explain it," Dudley said, frowning and looking disappointed. "I liked Dumbledore. He sounded cool."

Trying to remain patient, Harry continued. "Yes, well, he was killed by Snape, and then that summer Voldemort and his followers started making their move to take over the wizarding community."

"SNAPE?" roared Dudley loudly. Harry winced, glad he'd cast his protective enchantments. "Snape killed Dumbledore? Why? What…why? That's just-"

"Dudley, I have a lot to cover; can I just explain the rest, please?"

"Fine, but sometimes I wish you'd written this all down in a book or something. I need time to think about this. It would be satisfying to be able to shut the book for a while and process, then come back to it when I'm not mad anymore."

"Do you want me to shut up?" Harry was making the same irritated expression he'd made when Dudley had bullied him as a kid.

"That's not really what I meant, I just…"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Please just continue," Dudley sighed, motioning with his hands.

"Okay, well, I didn't go back to school for my seventh year. Ron, Hermione, and I went searching for horcruxes and ways to destroy them. But we also found out something rather interesting about Voldemort's movements. I was able to see into his mind because of my scar; I knew he was looking for a very powerful wand called the Elder Wand, and he eventually found it. It turned out that Dumbledore had been using it the whole time, secretly, until Draco disarmed him, which allowed Snape to kill him. Someone new won the allegiance of the Elder Wand."

"As we did more research, I came to believe that the wand wasn't the only special magical artifact in existence. There were three. A wand, a stone, and a cloak, called the three Deathly Hallows; they were supposedly given to three wizards by Death himself. An Elder Wand for powerful spellcasting, a Resurrection Stone to conjure the dead, and a Cloak for invisibility. It was said that the wizard to unite all three would become Master of Death. And I originally wanted to be Master because I thought I could finally prevail over Voldemort when it came time to face him.

"I started to wonder if maybe I already had the invisibility cloak from the story, and thought that maybe Dumbledore had left me the fabled stone, extracted from his ring and preserved inside the snitch I received after his death as a part of his will. Part of me wanted to pursue the Deathly Hallows rather than horcruxes, but I finally came to my senses – being Master of Death wouldn't do any good if Voldemort was still tethered to life by his concealed horcruxes anyway.

"At one point, we got captured and brought to Draco Malfoy's house, where we learned there might be a horcrux hidden inside one of the Death Eater's bank vaults. There was a scuffle while we made our escape, and I stole Draco's wand – my own had been broken a while back. Once we were free again, we made plans to search for a horcrux inside Gringotts Bank. You went there, Dudley. You remember?"

Dudley nodded slowly. "I have a feeling this is where the dragon James told me about comes in…"

Harry grimaced in modest embarrassment but nodded. "That dragon was our ride out of there, actually. We broke through the floor and flew away on its back."

"Wicked."

Harry gave a weak smile and talked on. "While on our own, we ended up finding two horcruxes and eventually we were able to destroy both. At first, we didn't know how to get rid of them, but Hermione is brilliant and finally found a way. I already knew Dumbledore had destroyed one; it was the ring he'd taken from Voldemort's relatives. Dumbledore eliminated the horcrux before the start of my sixth year. And, if you remember the diary from my second year that I stabbed with a basilisk fang…"

Dudley widened his eyes in surprise. "No way."

"Yeah, that was one too. So that made four destroyed horcruxes. And as we searched for more, we made our way back to Hogwarts, where we found one more and destroyed it. But by that point, Voldemort knew we'd been to Gringotts after escaping from Malfoy Manor, and realized what we were doing. He came to kill me, and that's when the Battle of Hogwarts began."

Dudley nodded in recognition; Amelia had mentioned the battle before, but not in great detail.

"I found out that Voldemort made his snake, Nagini, a horcrux as well; originally we'd overlooked it because we didn't realize you could make them with living beings." Harry's voice darkened slightly. "I used our mental connection to find where he was watching the battle, and snuck down to where he was hiding to try and kill the snake, but it was protected with a magical cage.

"While I was watching, he decided to let Nagini kill Snape to make sure the Elder Wand was entirely in his power. He thought that when you killed someone, the wand's allegiance would then lie with the killer. Since Snape killed Dumbledore, who was supposedly the true owner of the Elder Wand, Voldemort figured killing Snape would put the wand directly in his own power. It would ensure that nothing funny would happen when he finally used the wand to kill me.

"I wasn't able to get to the snake before Voldemort left with it. He announced to all of Hogwarts that the fighting would stop for a while, and he demanded I give myself up to him."

"So he could kill you?" Dudley asked bluntly.

"Yes."

"Well, clearly that didn't work."

Harry said nothing in reply, and sighed heavily. "When Voldemort left, Snape was dying. I waited until it was just him and me, and went over to him. And with his dying breaths, he gave me his memories; from those I learned the truth."

"He  _gave_  you his memories?" Dudley furrowed his brow incredulously.

"Yeah. You can magically transfer memories so that you can view them in a special device called a Pensieve. I watched the memories unfold…" Harry broke off, staring at his cousin. The expression on his face suggested that perhaps he'd never intended to share this story with anyone and that telling it was harder than he anticipated.

"What happened?"

Harry squinted and stared straight ahead, watching the waves lap at the shore of the small lake in the park. There was a small fountain at the center that offered a modest circular stream. A faint rainbow shone where the spray met the sunlight.

Harry explained what he saw in Snape's memories; about how his mother and Dudley's mother had grown up with the Potions master; how Snape had partially been responsible for relaying Trelawney's prophecy about the Potters to Voldemort; how Snape had loved Lily Potter and lost her.

"Dumbledore enlisted in Snape's services as a double agent, but Snape was always on our side despite how convincingly he played the part of a Death Eater," Harry said. "Snape spent his life defending me in secret. But there was something else Dumbledore told him that I discovered that day.

"On the night Voldemort murdered my parents, the heinous acts he committed damaged his already fragile soul. When he tried to kill me, the curse rebounded and divided his soul again. He meant to kill me and ensure his life would go on, but instead he made an unintentional horcrux tying us both to life. When he split his soul, it bonded to the only living thing there.  _Me_."

Dudley was speechless. He wanted to shout, or perhaps run screaming in terror, or smash something, but he was paralyzed with shock.

Harry didn't seem to be able to stop talking now. "And it makes sense. I could speak to snakes, like he could. I was connected to Voldemort's mind; I could see his thoughts, feel his anger; I always thought he was part of me, and in fact, he really was. When I finished viewing Snape's memories, I understood. Even if we were able to kill Voldemort's snake, Nagini, he would never truly die until the horcrux inside me was destroyed. And that meant-"

"No-" Dudley uttered softly.

"-that I had to die too. It was the only way. Dumbledore had always known it. Snape knew it. I knew it. I went to the Forbidden Forest to give myself up, charging Neville with killing Nagini in my stead. I wore my cloak, and carried the snitch Dumbledore had given me. I knew I was going to my death, and when I tried one last time to get the snitch to open, it did. The stone, the Resurrection Stone, was inside after all. I'd been right all along, and now was in possession of two of the Deathly Hallows."

Dudley wanted to ask whether or not Harry used the stone, but felt like it was a rude question. If he had brought back his parents, just for a little while, it had probably been an emotional and private moment. Dredging it up again felt wrong, so he held his tongue and let Harry continue.

"I made my way to a clearing where Voldemort was waiting. And when I took off my cloak, he used the killing curse on me."

Dudley gasped. "But how did you survive? Obviously he didn't kill you."

Harry looked down at his hands, which were clasped in his lap. "Actually, he did."

There was a moment of silence. Somewhere in the distance a bird squawked, oblivious to the terrible secrets being divulged.

"I had to die for the horcrux to be destroyed, and so I did. My soul was finally  _truly_  my own, and totally purified. In the moments that I was actually dead, I was – surprisingly – given a choice to return. I knew I wasn't finished, and wanted to defeat Voldemort once and for all. I woke up on the ground, pretended to be dead, and the Death Eaters brought me to the castle to tell everyone the news. When I had my chance, I grabbed Draco's wand from my pocket and eventually dueled Voldemort one-on-one."

"How did you defeat him?"

"Neville killed the snake, which meant the only soul that still needed to be destroyed was the one inside Voldemort himself. The two of us battled, and our curses met in midair. But I had something on my side."

He shifted on the bench.

"Remember, I won Draco's wand in our scuffle at Malfoy Manor. And Draco disarmed Dumbledore the night he died, the last night the headmaster was the owner of the Elder Wand. So when I took Draco's wand, I became the real master of the very wand Voldemort used to try to kill me. It refused to kill its own master, and rebounded to kill him instead.

"That was always his mistake. He thought killing solved every problem. He believed it won the allegiance of a wand from its owner. But he was wrong. Your wand belongs to whoever disarms you, not who kills you.

"With this in mind, Dudley, there's something else you need to know. When I was in the forest, ready to give myself up, I didn't know it at the time, but I simultaneously possessed all three Deathly Hallows. I had the cloak, the stone, and I was master of the wand without ever holding it. I became Master of Death. And even though I dropped the stone in the forest and hid the wand away…I have remained such."

"You're the Master of Death?" Dudley looked completely bewildered. "What does that even mean?"

"On every Halloween, I can see and speak to the spirits of the dead, who pass on messages to me. This time, Dumbledore told me that our children were in danger at the cause of Bridget Jacobs, their friend. Since then, I have been researching what this means for Hogwarts, and how I am supposed to stop it. I was told that I have the ability to solve this problem as Master of Death, but I still don't-"

"Harry, what problem are you talking about, exactly? I understand the whole train fiasco in September was strange, but is there something else going on?" Dudley asked more questions, in an effort to ignore Harry's admittance to seeing dead people. They'd even spent last Halloween together – that horrible night – how had he never noticed something was wrong with Harry? He'd been so caught up in his parents and Amelia's secret. Guilt surged into his stomach like icy water.

"Dudley, do you remember when I told you that Dark Magic exists and that people like Voldemort used it?"

"Yes."

"Well, Voldemort wasn't the only one. Bridget's ancestor-"

"She made horcruxes  _too_?"

"No. Worse," said Harry, pulling out some pieces of parchment. They were topped with Draco Malfoy's personal seal and crest, and his neat, looping handwriting spread across every page. "Now that you know what a horcrux does, you'll understand what her ancestor, Blair Bishops, did."

As Dudley read, Harry explained a little more. "They're called Blood Bonds – a nasty, rare form of Dark Magic. And we think Bridget might be the victim of one. If she isn't possessed already, she's certainly at risk. And if Blair gets ahold of Bridget's body, who knows what might happen to anyone in her path. I don't know what her plans are, but I'm afraid to find out. I have reason to believe that she was possessed, at least for a little while, in Salem. And while that happened, a girl died."

"Wow," Dudley huffed when he was finished. "This is a  _lot_  to process, Harry." He stared into the fountain, his mind swirling with black mystery and red blood. "Please tell me there isn't anything else."

"I'm sorry. I was holding off telling you everything, because I didn't want you to worry. But I couldn't wait any longer. Hogwarts, your daughter, and my son are in danger if I can't fix this. Being Master of Death is important in all of this, somehow. I don't know whether Blair Bishops seeks the Hallows, or if she wants to kill me, or use me for something…or if she is simply bent on destruction."

"Well, do you have a plan?"

"Not yet."

"What do you need from me?"

The words fell out of his mouth without accord. Harry stared at him in awe. There was once a time when Dudley would rather have eaten his own shoe than help Harry with anything. But a year could change a lot, and it had certainly changed him.

"I don't know yet," Harry blinked, "but I'll still let you know if I find out anything more. Thank you, Dudley. I know this was probably hard to hear on top of everything else."

"It was," he admitted. "I'm sorry, but this is quite a lot to take in. I still don't know what to think about what happened to you."

"Are you angry with me? For not telling you the whole truth at first?"

"What, that you died and came back to life? I'm not going to lie to you. It's really messing with my head. But at this point, I don't think anything else could surprise me."

"I think you'll live to regret those words," chuckled Harry, cracking a smile for the first time since they sat down.

They sat and stared at the lake for a while longer, both of them contemplating the rainbow in silence. Finally Dudley turned to look at Harry again. "Thank you. For trusting me. For telling me."

"You're welcome," said Harry. "We're family. If I can't trust my own blood, how can I trust anyone?"

* * *

That evening, after relaying the information Harry had shared to Hannah, Dudley went downstairs to make himself a late-night cup of tea. He normally avoided remaining downstairs, alone in the dim illumination of the fluorescent kitchen lights, but Hannah had gone to bed and he just wasn't tired. Thoughts were bouncing against his skull, keeping him wide awake and distressed. When Amelia was born, he knew parenting was going to be hard…but nothing prepared normal fathers for what he was currently struggling with.

Just as he was about to take the first sip of chamomile, the phone rang. He answered it quickly, hoping it hadn't woken Hannah. Who on earth would call at this hour?

"Hello?" he asked tentatively.

"Dudley?" whispered his father. He sounded like a spy calling a contact on a secret mission.

"Dad, why are you calling this late? It's ten thirty. Is something wrong?"

"Look, I only have a few minutes. I just wanted you to know I feel awful about what happened on Halloween. I miss being part of your life. I want to make it up to you."

"Did Mum put you up to this?" Dudley demanded.

"No, ah…she doesn't know I'm calling. I want to make amends, but I think she's taking a little longer to well, feel up to it. We've both had bad experiences with their lot. I mean… _wizards_." The word sounded foreign in his father's voice. Dudley silently wondered if it was the first time he'd ever said it aloud. "But your Mum will probably see reason soon. If I have, she definitely will," Vernon finished.

Dudley started laughing. His own parents had no idea they were going behind each other's backs to make peace with him about Amelia.

"Well, talk to Mum," he said through his chuckling. "You guys need to work out some stuff before we talk, from how it sounds-"

His father cut him off, sounding rushed and distracted. "She's just come out of the bathroom – I have to go." There was a soft click as he hung up.

Dudley stared at the phone in his hands as if it was a puppy that had just bitten him.

Thinking back to his conversation with Harry, perhaps his cousin had been right. He needed to trust his own blood. If his family could make peace with each other and accept Amelia was special, maybe he could trust everyone else a little more. Maybe his parents would end up becoming a wonderful part of Amelia's life as a witch and a Seer. Maybe their relationship would be stronger for it. All it would take was a little magic.


	37. Pawn Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sudden windfall and a glance to the future.

The last day of classes before exams was a dreary one. Rain lashed against the glass windows, and the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling had a perpetual, dreary, misty look about it as the students of Hogwarts gathered for a hearty breakfast.

Owls were soaring in droves above the four long tables, searching for owners and delivering last minute letters, most of them arranging times to meet families at King's Cross Station once the school year came to a close that Saturday.

One such letter found its way to James, with Hatherley landing neatly at the center of the table where he, Amelia, Bridget, Bean, and Scorpius sat. Everyone drew their plates a little closer, having learned by now that Hatherley had developed a fondness for nipping at their breakfast plates in the hopes of stealing a bit of their eggs. James read the letter, looking pleased.

"My father says hello. And he sends some interesting news. Apparently Rose – my cousin – took some sort of placement exam; she's skipping first year and starting with second year classes. She'll be studying the same subjects as us next year."

"Weird," said all the Gryffindors, while all the Ravenclaws gasped and said "That's impressive."

"It'll be strange having her in our classes," said James. "But if she's as smart as Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione say, it'll be nice having someone who can help us with the answers sometimes since we're all dreadful at Potions."

There was a murmur of agreement at this.

"Does the letter say anything else?" asked Scorpius with poorly concealed interest. Everyone knew was hoping for a shred of contact from his father. Draco Malfoy still had yet to respond to the latest care package. There was actually a bet of six sickles going on between John Menton and Claire Perch over whether or not the next letter from Scorpius' father would be a howler.

"Not really anything of note," James told everyone vaguely, folding up the letter and sticking it in the pocket of his robes. Amelia knew he didn't risk reading aloud in front of Bridget. As was now their procedure, they were careful what they said around her on the off chance that she was possessed. While no one could be very sure of this, James was the most outspoken in his belief that she was not. Nevertheless, he was still doing as his father had requested in case the worst was true. Amelia still held that the famous Harry Potter probably had more sense when it came to Dark Magic than a couple eleven-year olds.

Bridget kept her face blank, not looking disappointed at the lack of news. In fact, she seemed to not be focusing on anyone at the moment. She was staring out the window at the Forbidden Forest with an odd, hungry look in her blue eyes.

They'd noticed that in the past few months, ever since Halloween, Bridget had become more distant with them. She was still pleasant and kept up with her studies, but she seemed to be constantly tense, and could turn snappish in a heartbeat if put under too much stress. Poor Claire Perch had been on the receiving end of a rant about Defense Against the Dark Arts class, where the class had just been set another essay – three feet in length – about various curse-blocking methods. That, in addition to their upcoming practical exam, was enough to make anyone nervous, let alone someone with far more on their mind than simply academics.

There had been no more sightings of the mysterious black phantom Amelia had seen leave her cloner that fateful night of their detention. But even now, among the bustle of students laughing and eating, she still felt as though something unwelcome walked among them. She wasn't the only one. Scorpius never went anywhere without his wand, and Bean had taken to carrying several small herb pouches in his pocket to protect against common hexes. James had reason to believe the herbs were completely useless and only succeeded in making Bean smell pungently of garlic and rosemary, but Bean had insisted.

"They help stave off the effects of my… _other_ …problem too," he'd told them in private last week. Apparently his desire to drink blood was still getting stronger without his lost Bloodstone amulet. He and Teddy had been taking midnight walks more and more frequently, and he'd stopped eating normal food entirely, favoring only the small vials of red liquid that Hagrid slipped him quietly in the corridors.

The mood at the table settled into a quiet method of clinking of silverware against plates, with Amelia and Scorpius exchanging glances at small intervals and then looking back at Bridget, who was still lost in thought. James surreptitiously pushed a note to both of them from under the table that read:  _Dad hasn't found a spell to get rid of Blood Bonds yet. He talked to Scorpius' dad, who is helping research. But Dad said it's got something to do with the Deathly Hallows, like in The Tales of Hogwarts and The Tales of Beedle the Bard. That's all he'll tell me._

No one really knew what to make of this news, other than hope that Bridget wasn't already doomed. The trio watched her silently for the rest of breakfast, where she hardly took her eyes off the window. In fact, the only thing that did actually rouse her was when Teddy Lupin approached the table and sat down beside James. Victoire followed close behind, her blond hair glowing faintly in the overcast light.

"James, I've got some good news," Teddy said, smiling and ruffling his blue hair. He liked to keep it messy and persistently wayward, just like James. And, come to think of it, just like Mr. Potter. "Your father's coming to Hogwarts on Friday."

"What? He didn't tell me that," James frowned, pulling out his own letter again and checking the contents as if to be sure. "Why wouldn't he tell me?"

"Because, technically, it was supposed to be a surprise."

"Why'd you go and spoil it then?"

"Because I knew you'd just find out anyway. I know you've been asking Victoire to snoop and read his letters to me. I can promise you – you're not going to find the advanced spells or directions to secret passageways you appear to think he sends me. All your nosiness will only yield conversations about my future in wandmaking and the fact that my hair is, to his public chagrin and secret pride, still blue."

James shot Victoire a  _thanks a lot_  look which she waved away with a flick of her luxurious hair and an unapologetic smile.

"Why's he coming?" Amelia asked, feeling hopeful. Perhaps if Mr. Potter was here, he could see if Bridget was doing all right. If anything, she would feel a little safer with him around. "Will we get to see him?"

"He's coming for my graduation ceremony on Friday. I know you all have exams that morning, but you're all invited as my guests that afternoon. They're having a ceremony out on the lawn; all students and the families of the graduates are invited. It's tradition. Harry's the closest I've got to a father, so I invited him. I expect you'll probably get to sit by him at the ceremony."

Bridget blinked, looking suddenly interested. "Harry Potter is coming here on Friday?"

"Yep," said Victoire, twirling a lock of hair around her finger absently. "Uncle Harry wouldn't miss it, he said so."

Bridget was suddenly smiling widely. "That's fantastic. I've always wanted to meet him!"

"You  _have_  met him," said James, frowning slightly. "In Diagon Alley before the start of school. You met him at George's joke shop."

"Oh, right," Bridget said, moving her hands as if to wave off his comment like candle smoke. "But I never really got to  _talk_  to him. He's one of the people on my list."

"Your list?" Bean raised one red eyebrow.

"I have a list of people I want to interview. He's number one. I even have a copy of The Tales of Hogwarts that maybe he could autograph. I read it and made all kinds of notes in it; see…I have all sorts of questions to ask him about magic and the Battle of Hogwarts and theory of charms…"

"Ravenclaws," muttered James irritably. The attention his father often received by Hogwarts students left him irked; sometimes it was apparent that people saw James as a way to connect to the fame and mystery that surrounded his father. Bridget was veering dangerously close into that territory now. She seemed to realize this, because she stopped babbling and shot him an apologetic look.

"Sorry, I'm nerding out again," she sighed, pushing some of her short auburn hair off her face.

"It's fine," James shrugged, turning back to his toast. Teddy patted him on the back in a brotherly fashion, then he and Victoire stood up.

"Best be going," he sighed, looking forlorn. "I've got my first N.E.W.T in an hour. I should probably get ready."

"Good luck," they all chorused, watching as the couple walked out of the Great Hall holding hands.

"They're cute together," said Amelia. Bridget nodded in agreement.

"Ugh, gross," grumbled James. "I'm still eating."

"Someday you won't find it gross," said Scorpius, but he too looked a little queasy. He was probably imagining the horror of holding hands with a  _girl_. "Someday you'll feel differently."

"Eh, well, not today," James said, but he gave Bridget a funny little smile before packing up and standing away from the table. "I'm going to the library for some studying, if anyone else cares to join."

* * *

Exams that week went rather well, in Amelia's opinion. After completing Astronomy and Charms, she was able to ace her Transfiguration exam after turning a mouse into a teacup with relative ease. Her History of Magic test, while dull, was pure memorization, which she was quite good at. Her Defense Against the Dark Arts exam was Thursday afternoon, followed by her Potions evaluation in the dungeons on Friday morning. The thought of being free for the summer made the studying worth it, but she still much to do before she could relax.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts exam included the three foot essay Professor Thomas had assigned them, to be submitted upon entering the classroom for their practical portion. It was supposed to be a good way to synthesize the information they'd already need to memorize in order to perform the defensive spells they had learned over the year. However, it was quite a lot of writing; nobody in their class had yet finished and it was already Wednesday morning.

After a terribly early breakfast – not even the Ravenclaws were in the Great Hall yet – Amelia, Scorpius, and James ended up back in the Gryffindor common room. It was already packed at six in the morning, as every panicking first year was still working on their monstrous Defense Against the Dark Arts essay and flipping through textbooks to find more information about hologram charms, protective amulets, curse-breaking rings, and all kinds of other defensive magical capabilities.

The trio was talking quietly at a sequestered table in the far corner, debating whether or not to include powdered horn of a unigoat (a one-horned goat, according to the textbook) as a means of curse protection. They were nearly finished, with only a few sentences to go, but they were tired enough to start second guessing themselves.

"I mean, it says here that the unigoat horn's stench is powerful enough to send even the darkest wizard running," said Amelia seriously. "Maybe if you chucked some of this powder at whoever was cursing you, it would count as curse protection. That's defensive magic, right?"

"I think you're just trying to get more words down," said Scorpius, sounding dubioius.

"Yes, well, three feet is a very long essay and I'm very tired," she said indignantly. "What do you think, James?"

"Yeah, I want to know what you're going to put. Unless you've already moved on to amulets," added Scorpius.

But James, who was reading a large textbook, did not look up.

"James?" Scorpius tried again. There was no answer. Amelia peered over James' shoulder at the open book. There was an illustration of an amulet that looked strangely familiar.

"Wait a minute. Is that…" she asked slowly. All three of them continued to stare at it.

"I think…" answered Scorpius after a moment.

"We've had the key to Bean's recovery this whole time," Amelia said, thunderstruck.

"It's been sitting in my trunk for ages," said James numbly, at last blinking out of his realization and joining the conversation. "I've been completely oblivious."

"It's not our fault," said Scorpius. "How were we supposed to know what it looked like? Come to think of it, Bean never described it to us."

"It must have fallen out of his bundle of clothes when we took him to the infirmary on Halloween. It would have slid right off his neck since he was a cat at the time. And when we found it on our way back to the Feast, there's no way we could have known where it was from," reasoned Amelia.

"We have to give it back," James decided. He looked horrified and ashamed. "He needs it. You've seen how ill he's become lately. He hasn't eaten anything in months and he hardly sleeps."

But then Scorpius frowned and pointed to a place in the textbook. "Wait. Look at what it says under the caption.  _The famous and rare Bloodstone pendant has the power to banish evil spirits and purge dark magic from any place._ What if we could use it to save Bridget from whatever's haunting her?"

"We can't," sighed Amelia. "See, down here," she pointed. " _The pendant, while immensely powerful, has its limits. It can only be wielded by its true owner. Additionally, its enchantment will eventually run out and it will cease to be useful._  For anyone but Bean, who I assume is the true owner, it's just a necklace."

"But how does it know who the true owner is?" asked James, flipping through the pages for the answer. "Oh, wait, I see –  _In order to claim the power of the Bloodstone, a wizard preserves a drop of his own blood within the crystal structure of the stone itself. A new owner can only be chosen if the previous owner is no longer living, as the blood protection charm is then severed."_

They read this again, trying to understand.

"Blood," said Scorpius. "I understand now. The  _Blood_ stone."

"So it would only work for Bean," concluded Amelia. "We can't use it. Besides, it's not fair of us to keep this from him for our own purposes anyway. He needs it more than we do right now."

"You're right," James sighed and shut the book. A billowing cloud of dust issued from it and danced in the pale morning sunlight of the common room windows.

"Maybe we can convince Bean to use it to protect Bridget?" Amelia wondered. But the boys shook their heads.

"We can't tell anyone about what we know in case Bridget really is possessed," said Scorpius. "Bean's always close to her, and if he let something slip, she'd figure out we know something about the Blood Bond thing."

"But Bridget is our friend – even if she is possessed, we need to help her if we can," he protested.

"Sometimes that help means keeping some distance for the time being," Amelia said kindly.

"But I can't. I'm meeting her in the library in a few minutes to study Potions."

Scorpius regarded him with a mixture of surprise and exasperation. "You have a one-on-one study date with a girl who may or may not be controlled by a dark witch? That's brave, even for a Gryffindor."

"Well, either way, she needs friends and support right now. She's probably frightened. And even if she  _is_  possessed, she'll wonder why we're acting funny around her. Think of it as me keeping up pretenses," James replied defensively. He straightened his red and gold tie, ruffled his hair, and sighed. "Besides, it's not a  _date_."

Scorpius merely snorted skeptically in response. "Okay, sure," was all he said.

"Hey! I'm eleven. I'm not nearly old enough to 'date', even if I wanted to. Teddy said once I lacked the proper maturity."

Amelia laughed. "That's accurate," she said, recalling their conversation about Teddy and Victoire from earlier that week.

James threw a crumpled piece of parchment at her and she ducked, giggling.

"I promise, nothing's going to happen that will jeopardize her protection," he assured them after he'd scribbled a few more lines onto his still-unfinished essay and started rolling it up for later. "I'm good at keeping secrets."

"We know," said Amelia, thinking of the invisibility cloak; even Scorpius was still unaware of it. "But we just don't want you to get too attached to her in case she turns out to be channeling a homicidal ancestor or something."

They all looked at each other, wanting to laugh but deeming it largely morbid and inappropriate. They settled for awkward silence instead.

"Right," said James a little stiffly, "Well, I'm going to meet Bridget. When I come back, we should figure out how to get this amulet back to Bean."

* * *

After Amelia finished her essay around four, she checked her watch and gasped, startling Scorpius so much that he accidentally put an extra "s" at the end of "unigoats" on his essay.

"I have to go meet Trelawney now," she said, looking excited. "I'd forgotten!"

"I'll be here all evening. Once I finish this essay, I'm going to be practicing the disarming spell we just started learning for Professor Thomas. I know it's a tricky one that's meant for second years, but I think I can get it before tomorrow," said Scorpius, opening another book and looking determined. "I want to get good marks so my father can't complain that being a Gryffindor is impacting my study habits."

"Good call," Amelia said wisely, then departed.

As she climbed the stairs to Trelawney's attic, she felt a headache coming on. It was probably just the stress of exam week on top of pushing her mind to better control her Seer abilities. Today she knew they were going to try Seeing with crystal balls. During their last lesson, Trelawney had pointed out that Amelia had already done this without realizing – the marble she often rolled between her fingers, the one she'd gotten in her Christmas cracker, was actually a miniature crystal ball. It had guided her to Bean and Teddy the night she'd discovered what her friend really was, and it had probably amplified her "dream wavelengths," whatever those were. Amelia was excited to see what a real crystal ball could do. When she got to the top, she grinned with anticipation, inhaling the sticky and heavy smell of incense that seemed to calm her mind. She knocked, and the door opened.

They made tea and read the leaves, as always. Trelawney saw a Grimm, omen of darkness and death, as always. And, as always, Amelia saw a thestral, the omen of Dark Magic, and narrowly escaped having to explain Bridget's Blood Bond predicament when Trelawney asked what she thought it meant.

From there, they pulled out crystal balls from the bottom shelf of the china cabinet and set them on the table. The pearly white swirl inside each ball made Amelia feel a sense of displacement, as if she was on a boat that was slowly rocking back and forth. The tipping sensation increased as she followed Trelawney's instruction and gazed into it.

She began to see unfamiliar faces that flickered in and out of focus. A bloody knife appeared, then a curious cracked black stone. An ancient-looking curtained archway took its place, followed by the luminous lime green of some sort of jewel. As these images presented themselves, Amelia felt like a schooner in a storm; buffeted and dizzy and seasick. She felt as though her boat was suddenly being dashed to pieces. She sank under waves of nausea, and then there was blackness.

When she came to, her brain was as foggy as one of the crystal balls. There was a lapse of time she didn't remember, like someone had punched a hole in her memory.

She looked up into Trelawney's magnified eyes, seeking an explanation. The professor divulged, only after persistent questioning, that Amelia had made a prophecy. Then Trelawney began ushering her out of the room, proclaiming today's lesson was over.

"You need to rest. Take care of your post-prediction headache. You've had enough for one day," she said in a wobbly voice.

"What?" Amelia protested, "But you didn't tell me anything about the prediction. What did I say?"

"You're far too young to know of such horrors," she said vaguely, and before Amelia could argue more, the door closed with a snap behind her. She then heard the distinct sound of a crystal ball shattering on the ground and flinched. For a few moments after, she stood on the landing, reeling, confused and angry. What was all that about?

She was inclined to chalk it up to Trelawney's exaggerated dramatism, but the professor's terror-filled magnified eyes still lingered like an afterimage in Amelia's mind. She looked back at the door, wondering if she should knock and try to reason with the professor, but just as her hand hovered over the doornob, there was a sound behind her. It could have been a footstep slipping on the stone staircase, but Amelia heard nothing else. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and that was when she decided to go.

She made it back to the common room in record time, though by now she had decided the noise was probably just her imaginiation. She slammed her books on the table, the anger with Trelawney returning in the absence of fear. Scorpius looked up at once, and James followed after finishing one more line of his essay. He was on the final section: duplication spells. That part of the essay was a particularly nasty, difficult theory about how one could make protective hologram projections of oneself with a complicated incantation. The trouble was, nobody had succeeded in pronouncing it correctly and the exam was tomorrow.

"What's got you all irritable?" asked James.

Amelia merely hurled herself into the nearest chair, rubbing her temples and exhaling loudly. "Headache," she said.

"From training with Trelawney? Or stress about exams?"

"It's a post-prediction headache, apparently."

"What is that?" asked Scorpius, dipping his quill into his ink and looking up from his Potions study guide, concerned.

"I made a real prediction today."

"Well, that's fantastic," cried James happily. "But I thought you'd be pleased."

"Oh, I would be, if I knew what I'd said."

"You don't remember?"

"No – it's like my mind shut down and somebody else took control, and I only got to come back once they'd said their piece. And Trelawney didn't even tell me what I'd predicted; she just sent me back here."

"Why?" The boys frowned, looking indignant.

"She said something about 'horrors' and told me I needed to rest. I'm convinced it was just a minor prediction about somebody's shoelaces or something stupid, and that she just wanted to make it a bigger deal than it was. It makes sense, I mean. She always thinks everything is far worse than it actually is." She turned to James sullenly. "Didn't she tell your father that he was going to die every year because she saw it in the 'forboding portents of the Great Beyond' or whatever?"

He nodded.

"And he's just fine," she shrugged. "He didn't die."

"Yeah," agreed Scorpius. "I think you're right. Maybe she is just being dramatic. Trelawney does say 'horrors' quite a lot, anyway. She said it to Teddy last year when she foresaw him changing his hair from brown to blue. And again when she predicted Teddy would steal Dumbledore's portrait from the Headmistress' office that same year."

"What'd he do that for?" she asked, distracted by the outrageous story. She'd heard many a crazy tale about Teddy, but not this particular one.

"Well, I don't know the whole story, but Bradley McKinnon told me about it last week. I guess Victoire planned this whole sit-in with the students, ghosts, and portraits. They all spoke out about disbanding the rule that students had to sit with their house during all meals. She set up all the portraits who agreed with her in the Great Hall, and she fixed them to the table seats with magic so that nobody else could remove them. It was basically a protest, and Dumbledore's portrait was the one that really sold the idea to McGonagall. Of course, it ended with tons of detentions for Victoire, as we discovered this year, but she still won the battle. Although, not many people know Teddy was the one that helped her."

"Interesting."

"Now it all makes sense," grinned James. After a while, he turned back to Amelia. "Trelawney really wouldn't tell you what you said?" he asked, twirling his quill thoughtfully.

"Nope."

"Old bat," sighed Scorpius. "I think your essay is long enough now," he said to James.

"I thought I was only at two feet, eleven inches…"

"It's three feet if you count your footnotes too."

James looked relieved and started to roll up his parchment. "Excellent."

"Why do they want us to measure essays in feet anyway?" Amelia asked, still feeling prickly and frustrated. "We use the metric system for everything else."

"Dunno," said Scorpius, who was packing up his books and aiming for the dormitory stairs. "But I bet Bridget likes it, since she's American. A little taste of home and all."

He left, leaving Amelia alone with James, who was also starting to pack up.

"How did things go between you and Bridget in the library?" she asked, her head still pounding. She'd never had a post-prediction headache like this before.

"It was fine. She seemed normal, if a little distant. I think she's just scared, and she doesn't want us to get hurt. I tried to make her feel comfortable, at least. We talked about Teddy's graduation a little, to take her mind off everything. She's really excited dad's coming to see the ceremony. I think it'd be good for her to talk to him again, to see that there are people like him willing to help her escape dark magic and everything she's been through. That there are people like him that are strong enough and good enough with magic to protect her."

There was a beat as James started to close all his textbooks and stack them up.

"Poor Bridget," Amelia sighed. "I want to help her, I really do. But sometimes I don't know how much to trust, and that makes me seem more distant than I mean to be. You were right after all, she needs friends."

"We'll figure something out. We have all summer to plan out how to help her. Maybe we can even visit her in Salem," James reassured her, looking into her concerned face. "Don't forget, my parents are on it as well. And even Mr. Malfoy agreed to work with my father. We have people on our side. We won't be alone this summer and neither will she."

"You're right," she sighed, standing and picking up her books again. "Well, I'm off to bed, I think. I know it's still early, but tomorrow's going to be stressful, and I still have a headache."

"Night," said James, and they parted ways up the spiral staircase to the dormitories. As she crawled into bed, Amelia pulled her miniature crystal ball from her pocket and set it on her bedside table. But it rolled off the edge before she could stop it and then shattered on the ground. Disappointed but too tired to clean up the mess tonight, Amelia turned out her light and closed her eyes.

She fell asleep almost immediately, pulled under by the pain of her headache. She was so tired, in fact, that she didn't hear her quiet, recorded voice coming from the crystal ball's shattered shards, reciting one time only the prediction she'd made in Trelawney's office.

Amelia was the only one who could have heard it, but she slept too soundly. Those unheard truths remained unnoticed and trapped in the small marble, the foreboding warning unheard and unheeded.

_Orphaned by an orphan, a doorman lives._

_This time the flaws in the plan will be his._

_For him, the portal opens at the close_

_Foreseen by a child of the divining rose._

_To longing or leaving must one resign,_

_A foe or friend must another decide._

_While one yearns for a father's support,_

_A villain plans to make all fear sport._

_And if in darkness forever this evil be entombed,_

_To hunger or thirst must one first be doomed._


	38. Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a day like today, nothing could go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun designing a Hogwarts Graduation Ceremony. Hope you enjoy!

Harry Potter arrived at the gates of Hogwarts in the bright sunshine of mid-afternoon. The smell of the grass and the distant glimmer of the lake greeted him like old friends. He half-expected Hermione and Ron to come find him any minute, and they'd go sit under their favorite tree to study for their exams.

There was a bittersweet taste in his mouth as he waited with the other parents, who had conjured squat armchairs and quaint coffee tables along the paved entryway to wait in comfort. They were chatting casually about where their children were heading after Hogwarts.

"Declan's going to start in the Department for Magical Maladies and Disorders – it's a branch they've started for research in conjunction with St. Mungo's," one witch wearing a large pink pointed hat was saying.

"Maybe he'll run into our Hamish – he's going to be a Healer. A curse specialist, actually," said the portly man to her left.

Harry considered joining the conversation to brag on Teddy, who would be starting his apprenticeship with Ollivander next week to learn wandmaking, but something held him back. He was probably one of the youngest people there – most other parents he knew had children in their second or third year, and these guests were all here for their seventh year kids. These other parents had sons and daughters who were nearly adults themselves. With Albus and Lily not even at Hogwarts yet, Harry felt like a toddler sitting at the grown-up table among these other parents.

And, while he wished very much that Teddy could be his actual son, the fact of the matter remained that Harry had many years of parenting before he'd be back here for a graduation ceremony for James. Who knew what those years would bring? His own chaotic, treacherous, unorthodox childhood could probably have filled several books. And James was just as danger-prone as he was.

Harry liked to think Teddy had grown up well. He'd spent more than enough time at the Potters' to be considered family, and his grandparents had cared for him as their own son. But as Harry stood on the fringe of the crowd of parents, waiting for McGonagall to come and let them inside the grounds, his thoughts strayed to Teddy's father, and he wished more than ever in that moment that Remus Lupin could be here too.

If Harry had the Resurrection Stone still, he probably would have been sorely tempted to bring Lupin back just for today. Indulgently, he imagined it, just for a moment: a barely visible Lupin watching his son walk across the stage with his face full of pride and perhaps silent appreciation of Teddy's blue hair. Or maybe Teddy would let his hair return to its original sandy color just for the occasion, so that the resemblance to his father would be noticeable.

But Harry banished the thought as Dumbledore's words from long ago came to mind.  _It does not do well to dwell on dreams and forget to live._  He understood more than most the void left by the lost, but this was not the time to torture himself with false imaginings. The dead were not meant to remain with the living.

The worlds were separate for a reason. Like oil and water, they were not to mix, for fear that they may become inseparable yet insoluble.

* * *

"This has got to be a record or something," James sighed, staring at the mountains of books Bridget had in her arms. They were standing in the library line, waiting to return all of them now that the term was over. James held three heavy volumes and Bridget had at least twenty. Amelia and Bean waited behind both of them, each clutching another gigantic stack of her books. They exchanged a look of amusement, and Bean grinned, baring his small fangs.

They'd finally managed to give Bean back his amulet earlier that morning when they'd all gathered for breakfast. In fact, he'd been so elated to see the green pendant that he'd overturned his goblet and spilled chicken blood all over the table. Bridget had risen quickly from the table and rushed away – Amelia assumed she didn't like the sight of blood. Scorpius had cast a scourging charm to clear the wood of all bloodstains before anyone else noticed the spill. But, unfortunately, no one knew how to get blood out of Bean's robes, so he'd left in a hurry to go change clothes before cheerfully agreeing to meet them in the library after exams.

It was nice to see him happy again. If only there was an amulet that could make Bridget less worried, Amelia thought. Although, as they stood together in the library, she did seem happier than she'd been in a long time. Perhaps now that exams were over, she felt a little more at ease. Bridget had finally made it through the year despite her troubled past.

"You hoarded  _all_  of these books? This is a case of obsession, if you ask me," James continued.

"Well, of course I had these all year, James," Bridget gave him a studiously disapproving look. "It's how I passed my classes."

"But some of these aren't even on subjects we've studied." He gestured with a nod toward The Care and Keeping of Thestrals.

Bridget blew her bangs out of her face. "I'm American - I wanted to study as much about your magic as possible – the history is fascinating."

"You mean you read all of this in your free time?"

"Yes!"

James shifted his books onto one arm, picked up Portkeys - A Wizarding Travel Marvel and How to Make One off the top, and examined it curiously. "But…why?"

"Because I like reading," said Bridget, casually resting her chin on her stack of books. "I thought that was pretty obvious."

"I will never understand that," James said. "Textbooks for fun? You're mad. Why read for fun when there's Quidditch or Exploding Snap or Scorpius' antics?"

Scorpius shot him a mildly irritated look. "Don't bring me into this."

"I may be crazy, but at least I'm well read," Bridget said loftily as she and the others stepped forward to rest the books on Madam Pince's return counter.

Checking the books back in took an agonizingly long time. Madam Pince insisted on examining in each one separately to make sure Bridget hadn't forgotten any. By the time they made it through them all, everyone except Bridget had retreated to a corner of the library to read the most recent  _Mitch Maven, Undercover Wizard_  comic. Once Bridget had finished, she came and got them with an apologetic smile, but they didn't mind the waiting. It was much easier to be patient when there was something good to look forward to, especially when it was a graduation ceremony.

They walked slowly, basking in the golden sunlight on their way down to the grounds. The world seemed more colorful now that their exams were finished and the pressures of school were lifted. Amelia felt the grass brush against her ankles and sighed in relief. She'd made it through her first year of Hogwarts without any trouble.

Well…without  _too_ much trouble. She'd had a terrifying detention, her friend had turned out to be half-vampire, she'd discovered she was a Seer, and Bridget still wasn't out of the woods yet, but on a bright, warm day like this, it was hard to feel like there was anything to worry about. There would be time tomorrow. In fact, a whole summer stretched before them like a lazy cat, full of long happy hours where they could help Bridget without the pressures of schoolwork.

The great lawn was already buzzing with activity when they arrived. Professor Suresh and Professor Longbottom had conjured elaborate white chairs in neat rows facing a beautiful tented stage decorated with the four house crests. The professors all sat in the front row, and Hagrid took a seat on a white concrete bench rather than risk a chair. Parents and graduates milled about happily, embracing one another and grinning. Harry Potter sat at the end of a row with four empty seats saved for Amelia, James, Bridget, and Bean. They filed in and sat down, fidgeting eagerly with excitement.

Amelia couldn't help but admire everything she saw. All the seventh years wore new black dress robes with the Hogwarts crest embroidered on the chest. Each robe was also lined with ribbons denoting house colors. The Slytherin robes had emerald silk, the Ravenclaws a deep blue, the Hufflepuffs a sunny yellow, and the Gryffindors an eye-catching scarlet.

To add to the impressive dress code, every graduate wore a handsome black pointed hat with a tassel looped around the base so it dangled off the brim. It was reminiscent of Muggle mortarboards she'd seen in movies, but Amelia liked these far better. She hardly had time to take in much else before Headmistress McGonagall ascended the steps to the stage and began to speak.

"Welcome, parents, distinguished alumni, friends, and fellow students. Today we celebrate the graduation of witches and wizards who will now go forward to make their mark on the world."

Everyone in their row, including Mr. Potter, sat in rapture as the ceremony unfolded before them. Amelia remembered James saying something about how his father had never officially graduated from Hogwarts. While the seventh year was optional, he'd had little choice but to leave after his sixth year. This must be his first time seeing a graduation too, she thought.

McGonagall continued to explain the long and incredible history of Hogwarts, and of its continued dedication to teach anyone with magical talent the skills they'd need in the world. After she finished, they called each student up by name. It was reminiscent of the Sorting ceremony, but instead of sitting on a rickety stool while wearing a talking hat, each student walked onto the stage, shook Professor McGonagall's hand, received a rolled parchment diploma, and then returned to their seat. Amelia might have considered it almost boring, were it not for one important, magical detail.

When each person stood on the stage with their granted diploma, everyone shot Weasley's Daylight-Designed Fireworks, streamers, confetti, wand sparks, and, in one case, live doves, into the air amid raucous shouts and cheers. Eventually, Amelia and James had a competition going for who could shoot their sparks higher, and Harry Potter himself was standing and clapping for everyone, even though he only knew one graduate.

When "Edward Remus Lupin" was called to the stage, Teddy rose, beaming. His blue hair matched marvelously with his yellow lined robes. Mr. Potter took a few photos on a magical camera he'd bought just for the occasion, and then the cheering began.

It was unlike anything Amelia had ever seen – gold fireworks exploded fifty feet into the air, Hagrid mopped his eyes with a bedsheet-sized handkerchief, and when she turned to see what Mr. Potter was doing, Amelia found him standing with his arms at his sides and tears sliding silently down his face.

When the cheering finally settled into a murmur, Victoire Weasely stood up from her seat near the back and cupped her hands around her mouth.  "I love you, Teddy Lupin!" she yelled, and was met with another resounding roar of approval from the students and a couple titters from the parents. Teddy turned to face her, took his hat from his head, and made a sweeping bow before returning, blushing faintly, to his seat.

James looked incredulously over at Victoire and then turned to Scorpius. "Al's never going to believe that just happened. Wait until I tell him…"

When the final name had been called, the graduates were asked to stand up and sing the school song together while raising their lit wand tips to the darkening sky. It was one of the most beautiful sights Amelia had ever beheld – it looked like Hogwarts was a tiny, musical city reflecting off the Black Lake and illuminating the steadfast trees of the Forbidden Forest.

_I'll remember this forever,_  she thought.

* * *

The reception afterward was just as wonderful. Gigantic white tents were set up near Hagrid's cabin, and house elves moved quickly through the crowd, each carrying an enormous platter piled high with miscellaneous hors d'oeuvres. Professor Suresh used his potion-making skills to act as bartender, serving anything from multicolored pumpkin juices to fizzing butterbeer. There was even firewhiskey if you were old enough.

Lit candles like the ones in the Great Hall floated high over their heads, almost brushing the tops of the tents. They cast monstrous shadows and jolly spotlights on members of the crowd. Teddy Lupin stood with Victoire, talking animatedly to Professor McGonagall, and Bridget seemed to have cornered Mr. Potter near one of the round tables where Hagrid, Professor Longbottom, and some other graduates sat to eat.

Amelia made her way over to Scorpius, Bean, and James, who were talking with Professor Thomas about Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"I actually won't be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts next year," Professor Thomas was saying. "We rotate through the position. It's not jinxed anymore, as far as we know, but there's still a superstition about spending more than one consecutive year in the post. Professor Longbottom and I are going to switch. I'll cover Herbology, and he'll teach you about dangerous dark creatures and cursed humanoid varieties. Vampires, werewolves, hags, banshees, you know."

Bean might have gone a bit pale at this, but it could have been a trick of the candlelight.

They shared what they were looking forward to learning as second years for a little longer, before Scorpius glanced over at Mr. Potter and Bridget, who were still talking.

"Perhaps we should rescue your father," he said quietly to James, who nodded in agreement. They said goodbye to Professor Thomas and moved to join Bridget. Mr. Potter seemed relieved to see them, and even more so when Bridget offered to get them all drinks.

"Pumpkin juice for me, please," he said.

The rest of them gave their orders for the same, except for Bean, who put a hand to his forehead and gasped, "Oh no! I forgot to put my amulet back on. I can't eat or drink if I don't-"

"-How could you  _forget_?" laughed James.

"I got used to not having it – I left it when I went to change clothes after spilling at breakfast. It's still sitting in the boys' dormitory. On my bed." He glanced around longingly at the food, then decided, "I'm going back to go get it."

"Is food really that important to you?" asked Scorpius, sounding awestruck and almost pitying. "Being a vampire must really be horrible."

"You have no idea. I want to try some real food for a change. I'll be back in a few minutes…depending on how long it takes me to crack the entrance riddle to Ravenclaw Tower…"

He was gone in a flash of red hair before anyone could respond. Bridget just shrugged, looking irritated. "I'll let him get his own drink then, I guess."

As she turned and walked in the direction of the bar, Mr. Potter wiped sweat from his brow. "You know, your friend is very curious. And very smart," he said. "I felt like I was being interviewed for a job when I was talking to her."

"She reads a lot," James said with an eye roll. "Maybe even more than Aunt Hermione."

They were interrupted again as one of the house elves approached with a platter of cauldron cakes. Delight crossed Mr. Potter's face, but instead of reaching for the food, he stooped down and gave the house elf a huge hug.

"Hello, Kreacher," he said. Everyone exchanged a bewildered look except James, who just stared at the house elf with dawning understanding.

"Dad,  _this_  is Kreacher? Your house elf? The one that works in the Hogwarts kitchens?"

Mr. Potter let go, making sure the ancient creature could keep his balance after such an embrace. "Yes," he said. "Kreacher, this is my son, James, and his friends, Scorpius and Amelia."

The house elf bent his head in a kind of bow. He wore a well-polished locket around his neck, and a sort of campaign button on his smock that read "I Support D.E.R.P and Welfare for All House Elves" in spindly purple writing. Scorpius raised an eyebrow.

"Hermione passes them out every time she visits the house elves here," Mr. Potter explained. "Last year Kreacher made her a feast to thank her for working to get them more rights. I think he's become rather fond of her."

"Perhaps, sir," Kreacher said. He was clearly trying to sound gruff, but it wasn't fooling anyone.

At that moment, Bridget returned with a tray laden with drinks and started when she saw Kreacher.

"Um, hello," she said uncertainly.

Kreacher, who had been so respectful a moment ago, gave her a horrified glare and raced away from the group without so much as a goodbye.

Mr. Potter blinked in bewilderment, but Bridget decided to ignore it. She passed out each of the little golden goblets individually, took her own, and set the tray on a nearby table.

"I'm sorry about Kreacher," Mr. Potter apologized. "He can be rude sometimes, but I don't know what all that was about."

"It's fine. Maybe he doesn't like Americans," she said with a blank smile.

"He may not like American magic," he said thoughtfully. "House elves have a different kind of magic to them, and they can often be aware of disturbances or differences in magic and its traces."

"Maybe," Bridget said vaguely. "I think I'd like to go outside the tent for a bit - I want to get some fresh air. It was nice talking to you, Mr. Potter. I'm sure I'll see you again very soon."

James, Amelia, and Scorpius followed her out into the summer night, each saying goodbye to Mr. Potter, who told them he'd try and find Teddy to say congratulations.

"This is so beautiful," Amelia said, marveling at the candlelit tent they'd exited, and staring up at the starry sky. "The weather couldn't be more perfect."

"You're right," said Scorpius, sipping his pumpkin juice. "I'm glad we were invited. That'll be us someday. Graduating. Can you imagine?"

"Not really," murmured Bridget, staring toward the forest.

"I'd like to focus on whether or not I passed all my exams," said Amelia. "I can't plan that far ahead."

"Says the Seer," said James. Everyone laughed.

"But I don't get to see my prophecies, even when I do predict stuff," she protested. "I have to rely on other people to tell me."

"Have you foreseen anything about tonight, Amelia?" Bridget asked suddenly.

James' eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "Why would that matter?"

"Well, it's the last night we'll all be together before we go home. I was worried something bad might happen."

"Well, I dunno," said Amelia, an odd feeling of warning in her chest starting to creep out like a tentative shadow. "If I have predicted something, I wouldn't know about it. I just have to hope nothing happens."

But knowing her luck, James' propensity for danger, and Bridget's cursed past, that hope did little to fend off the dark shadow that continued to grow in her heart.

"Yeah, let's hope," said Bridget, but there was something in her eyes now that hadn't been there before. A glint of something they may have mistaken for wistfulness…if her manic smile hadn't shown every one of her teeth.

And just as Amelia cast a worried glance between James and Scorpius, she felt a strange tugging sensation behind her navel. She felt herself being pulled forward, and then the world around her began to spin. Her feet left the ground, and scenery swirled in a terrifying blur.

* * *

James and Scorpius were close by, screaming just as much as she was, before the three of them slammed into wet earth. Amelia rolled instantly onto her back and noticed the stars were blotted out by trees, but she could see Hogwarts in the distance. She wasn't sure how, but they'd traveled into the Forbidden Forest by magic.

"Portkey," spat James, and some dirt flew out of his mouth. "She tricked us all."

"A what?" she gasped.

"A portkey. Must have been the goblets," said Scorpius, who was already on his feet and examining his now-empty cup up under his lit wand. "It's a way of enchanting ordinary objects to transport you places at a designated time."

"I stared right at the book on Portkeys this morning," growled James. He pulled himself to his feet and proffered a hand to Amelia, who took it. "How could I have not seen this coming?"

"Oh, but Amelia did," said Bridget, appearing as if by magic behind two trees. "I heard the prediction. I've been listening in on her lessons. I've always loved knowing things other people don't know. It gives me such an advantage. For example – did you know how easy it is to dupe little first years?"

The three of them spun, and Scorpius raised his wand. "Get behind me," he said to Amelia and James. They did, pulling out wands of their own and flanking their friend. In a less dire situation, Amelia might have laughed at their comical poses, but not now.

Bridget merely cackled, a high, eerie sound that was somehow older than her voice. "Hex me all you want. You won't do any damage."

"What?" James sputtered to himself.

"Why not?" Scorpius asked, and raised his wand still higher. He remained defiant and brave though he must have been terrified. Amelia had never seen him act like this. Like…a Gryffindor.

"I'm a replication. A hologram. That duplication spell Professor Thomas taught us was quite useful. You all had no idea why it never worked for you. It's because you're all British. The spell only works when it's pronounced right. With an  _American_  accent. I mastered it instantly." She gave a self-satisfied smirk. "And it's necessary to cast it tonight. Because I need a certain Mr. Potter, and I don't want to be interrupted while I pick the brain of the Master of Death."

_Master of Death…Master of…_ Amelia remembered that night they'd done their detention in the forest. The black smoke that had come from her cloner had whispered it.

"Not that you'd actually do any harm, of course," she said. "None of you have the guts to actually kill me, even if that's all it would take."

"Where is my father?" said James in a low, steady voice. He and Scorpius had begun to creep forward, eyes fixed on Bridget's likeness. "I know you're not Bridget. I know she'd never do this. Tell us where he is. I'll do anything you want."

"I know you would," she smiled. "Of  _course_  I'm not Bridget, dimwit. I've been her puppeteer since November, not that you noticed. But I'm not going to tell you where Harry Potter is. His portkey took him somewhere different, and my job is to keep you far away."

"How will you do that?" asked Amelia, finally finding her voice. "There are three of us, one of you, and you're not even corporeal."

Bridget grinned back, that same unhinged, gaping mouth. "I have magic on my side," she smiled. "I'm Blair Bishops, the Dark Witch who  _gave_  Salem its seedy underbelly. I've had centuries of overshadowing my descendants to learn intricacies of spells you'll never understand. I've made advancements in magic that have taken me beyond the realm of death. So I'm very sure I can make a simple hologram cast potent spells to keep you out of the way until I'm done with Harry Potter. My plans are too important to be thwarted by all of you. I think this will keep you busy.  _Secerno Maximus!_ " she cried with a wave of her wand.

Her image disappeared for a moment, as if experiencing some interference from the magic, but then she reappeared, as sullen and self-assured as before.

As the spell took effect, the trio found themselves at once divided. Amelia was immediately distracted by a red rose appearing in the air before her just as it had when they'd practiced the spell in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She felt Scorpius whirl so that his back was to hers, and heard footsteps as James spun in a quick circle, evidently searching for whatever his own manifestation of fear would be.

Amelia would have looked around too, but the rose took up her full focus. Already, she could feel its effects. She felt a prickling inside her skull, worse than it had been last time. Vivid pictures flashed before her eyes so rapidly it made her dizzy. She sank to her knees, gasping. She saw blood dripping onto the soil before her eyes – a path with tree roots as six feet ran along it – a gigantic snake with fangs glinting in the faint moonlight – a glowing green orb – an ancient archway – and on and on and on.

Yet, while her visions crippled her, a small voice in the back of her head came to life.

_This isn't real_ , it said.  _This is a spell. The rose is harmless – it's all in your head. It's what you fear. How do you fight it? This is no time to stay quiet, to do nothing. To be normal is to die now. Understand. What are you going to do, Amelia Dursley?_

"Face it," she muttered quietly. "Face it, come on, you have to."

Her eyes still were betraying her – as she talked, little rubies fell from her mouth and fell to the ground with loud booms. Hallucination…she wouldn't be conscious for much longer.

_What was the counterspell? Something to do with being invincible…vinc…vince…_

" _VINCERE_!" she cried with her last mote of consciousness, and the weight of nausea lifted at once. Her vision cleared and the rose was gone. She was free.

Bridget still stood before her, with her arms crossed in a put-out sort of way. Perhaps she hadn't expected Amelia to banish the fear so quickly.

But Amelia's attention was drawn back to her friends as she heard a great shout from directly behind her. She spun, hair flying, and found herself directly in front of a gigantic green snake. After her visions, it looked somewhat familiar.

Scorpius stood ahead of her, holding his wand with both hands like a sword. His face was a mask of fright.

Bridget cackled. "You know why this spell is so successful? It produces symbols of your fear directly proportional to how afraid you are of them. The poor Slytherin reject, afraid of the snakes that can bite and poison him, who can ostracize him for being different," she scoffed. "Take all the time you need to fight it, little Scorpius. Your time to save Harry Potter is nearly up anyway."

"No!" James roared, but it was drowned out by Scorpius, who let out a yell and ducked; the lunging snake lunged missed him by a millimeter. Scorpius' face was so pale it was almost transparent glass, and his lips were pressed tight. He looked up at Bridget in contempt, then back at the snake, which chose that moment to rear so high that it almost cleared the treetops. It struck with lightning speed, and all three of them dove to the ground to avoid its strike. Bridget just laughed.

"For something that's supposed to be harmless magic, it's particularly set on killing us all," remarked James in exasperation, spitting some fallen leaves from his mouth for the second time that night. "Just get rid of it, Scorpius."

"That's easy for you to say. It's not your fear. This is more than just banishing a snake. It's banishing the fear that I'll never be accepted by my Slytherin family."

"I know you can do it," Amelia said. "You know better than to fear that. Your life is not dependent on your ancestry. You have gained so much more than you think you've lost by being different."

Scorpius' eyes widened. He nodded slowly at her as if to say  _thank you_. Then he turned away, screwed up his face with a monstrous effort. "Okay, okay," he muttered to himself, staring at the snake, who opened its car sized mouth and bared its fangs. "Okay," he said in a voice higher than normal. "Vincer...vin…"

James and Amelia acted at the same time. They each grabbed one of Scorpius' shoulders in support. They grabbed him as though this was another Quidditch match where he needed to be properly dressed in house colors. As if they were going to hoist him up and carry him into the dormitory to make him put on Gryffindor socks.

He started at the sudden movement, but when he understood what they were doing, it seemed to give him courage. He finally yelled the counterspell and the snake dissipated like smoke.

He and Amelia then turned triumphantly toward James. "Where's yours?" they both asked.

The only other thing within eye distance was…Bridget.

"Figured it out, have you?" she smirked. "James' fear…the thing that will most impede him from rescuing his dear father…it's me."

They all stared.

"How? You've been here the whole time, even before the spell was cast," said Scorpius.

"No," said Amelia, remembering. "She flickered right after casting it. The real Bridget probably severed the connection with her hologram, assuming we'd be preoccupied. She couldn't have known that another version of her would be conjured as James' fear."

"Genius deduction," said Bridget, looking bored. "Well, go on then, vanquish me. I'm not real. I can't defend myself." She spread her arms mockingly, waiting for James to make his move. But he was frozen in place.

Bridget laughed, and it was a mean, high, cold sound. "See, I knew you couldn't."

"James, what does she mean?"

"I…" he began, and swallowed hard. "I c-can't."

"Why not?" Scorpius looked shocked. "You know she isn't real. She's not even actually Bridget. Our friend would never do something like this. She's possessed."

"But…like with Scorpius…it's not just that. James is afraid of hurting her. Of hurting his friend," Amelia reasoned aloud. "Isn't that right?"

James nodded. "Even if this is just a fake version of her, banishing that fear means I'd be ready to hurt Bridget, if she were real, to save my life. I'd be putting myself before her."

"You can't think of it like that," urged Amelia. "You're trying to save your father and our friend from a terrible fate. We can't do that if you don't defeat her. She isn't real, James."

"I know," he said softly.

Amelia put her cold hand on James' shoulder in solidarity, and Scorpius followed. "Together?" they asked him. James shakily aimed his wand at Bridget's figure.

"Together," he answered, and lit the shadowy clearing with his spell. Bridget vanished with a last echoing cackle, and the three of them were left alone in the forest, their eyes adjusting to the grim darkness.

"My father must be here in the forest somewhere," said James once they'd taken a moment to breathe. "You can't cast duplication spells over long distances, right?"

"Right," confirmed Scorpius. "But looking for him in the Forbidden Forest would be like finding a needle in a haystack."

Amelia put a hand to her head, remembering her vivid visions from her war with the divining rose. The knotted roots of trees, the running she'd dreamed about for ages, the path tread by familiar feet…it was a start, but it would be impossible to remember the exact path she'd seen. She needed something more.

But then her eyes found the answer: a shadowy shape stood ready some distance away. At first she thought it was a horse, but as it stepped into the circle of yellow light, she realized it was a thestral. It tilted its head at her in recognition – it must have been one of the foals Hagrid had shown them earlier. It focused its shiny, dark eyes on Amelia and tossed its head as if to beckon her to follow.

She blinked, realizing her friends were watching her with concern. It was easy to forget they couldn't see thestrals.

"I think I know how to find him," she said slowly. "There's a thestral over there, and I think it's going to guide us."

"Are you sure? How could it know where to go?" asked James, his eyes scanning the trees but finding nothing.

"I'm not sure," she said shakily, "but we don't have time to lose. We need to trust it, I think. I have this feeling like we should follow it."

The boys looked dubious but they eventually agreed; no one had a better idea. The three of them set out behind the thestral, creeping nervously through the wood, afraid to make any real noise lest they attract another unwanted foe. Amelia recognized parts the path from her visions as they walked, but instead of feeling elated, her dread grew.

The fate waiting for them at the end of this path wouldn't be kind.

"Whatever happens," she whispered to James and Scorpius, "we must be very, very brave."

"Agreed," said Scorpius after a long pause. "And once… _if_ …we get out of this mess, I'll have had enough trouble for a lifetime."

"You've just jinxed yourself," protested James. "Another six years of trouble. You shouldn't tempt the universe by saying you've had enough."

"Is that superstition or magic?"

"Magic."

"Oh. Okay, I take it back."

"You can't take magic back," scoffed James, his nervous face carved by shadows. "That's its curse."

And then, without warning, they heard a distant scream.


	39. The Forest Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, they meet face to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of the end! I wrote the first paragraph of this ending in August of 2014. Time has really flown!

Harry's wand was out even before the spinning stopped. His head was still swirling from the unexpected portkey travel, and his blurred vision kept him from having an advantage, but he could still use his other senses. He was an Auror, he was used to dire situations like this one.

It was only when he slammed into the warm earth that he knew he was in the Forbidden Forest. The cup portkey he'd been holding rolled from his hand. From the high-pitched laughter sounding from his left somewhere, he wasn't alone. Harry directed a few nonverbal jinxes in their general direction, but the laughing only drew closer.

"Good," a girl's voice said with smug approval. "Already putting up a fight. I like that. I was so hoping you'd be a challenging capture."

Harry stood up slowly, wand raised at shoulder level, and his head cleared enough to find Bridget standing in front of him, wearing Ravenclaw robes and baring her teeth in a gruesome smile. The hairs on his neck stood straight up. The way she was laughing made him quite sure she wasn't really Bridget anymore. This was someone…some _thing_  else. It had to be Blair Bishops.

Bridget was clearly possessed and he was too late to prevent it. That poor girl was trapped in her own body, unable to fight her way out. How could he have missed the signs? If he'd figured out Dumbledore's cryptic Halloween message sooner, maybe this wouldn't have happened.

Blair raised her wand and Harry prepared himself to cast a shield charm, but she instead pointed it into the trees. A jet of blue light flew silently through the air, soaring into the shadowy forest as if on a mission.

"What did you just do?" he asked.

She merely smiled.

"I'll fight however hard I must to save Bridget," he began. "You have no right to use her for your own gain,  _Blair_."

She laughed again and began to circle him, seemingly untroubled that he was still armed. If only Harry knew which spell to use – he couldn't fire off just anything and risk hurting Bridget instead.

"I have every right, Harry Potter. Bridget and I share blood. I have clung to a ghostly existence in anticipation for this opportunity for centuries. She's perfect – I need a permanent body."

"But why? Why would you do all of this? Why even make a blood bond? Surely that hollow life wasn't worth it?"

"It's worth  _this_ ," she said, gesturing to the trees around them. "Look at where we are. The forest again. Magic leaves traces – it took me ages of investigating this forest, but I finally found the spot where Voldemort killed you. Where the rift between life and death began. Don't you recognize it?"

"Nobody knows that – how could you possibly-"

"You are not the only person who can track magic by its fingerprints. I know you can tell the presence of dark magic – I can imagine what you saw in Salem, at Cygnets. You saw my handiwork, saw dark magic, saw death. Well, I'm the same as you – I know where to find sites of unusual magic. I knew what I was looking for. This forest is finite. It was only a matter of time, and I've months to investigate while I was trying to figure out a way into the castle. The stupid walls have magic stone meant to keep me out."

"What are you looking for? What does this have to do with me? Why did you make a blood bond in the first place?"

Harry tried to keep Blair talking. On their Auror missions, Ron had always insisted that a talkative villain was as good as captured, as they were too busy to kill you.

Harry planned to keep her talking as long as possible, until help arrived or he could escape. He had a bad feeling that when Blair got what she wanted, he'd cease to be useful…and probably cease to be alive.

At the words  _blood bond_ , a smile tugged at Blair's lips. "You know about the blood bond. Interesting. I knew you were clever, but I thought it would take you longer to figure it out. I have stayed for the same reason most ordinary ghosts decide not to go 'on'. I have unfinished business. I seek power, and my plan is foolproof."

"But you're no ghost," Harry said. "You killed your infant daughter, didn't you? To ensure you could survive even after death? That is not ordinary. It is not even magic. It's pure evil. I've dealt with people like you before. You know what happened to Voldemort. You know what must happen to you, too. Your business will remain unfinished." He twitched his wand, anxiously scanning his memory for any spell that might be useful. He couldn't think well with this much adrenaline.  _Come on, come on…_

"Oh, you're  _very_  good," Blair admitted. "Foolish, but clever. That's always the most dangerous combination, isn't it?"

"Foolish?" Harry grasped at any question he could.

Blair smirked. "You really do have the fantastic ability to not think things through. You never imagined I'd be smart enough to figure out a way past the school enchantments to get to Bridget. You assumed she was safe, and let your son and his friends run off with me, alone and unprotected tonight. You even trusted me to give you a drink you didn't see poured. You accepted it without even testing it for poison or enchantments."

With a pang, Harry remembered Mad-Eye Moody's warning from long ago. There'd been a reason the old Auror had refused to drink anything that didn't come out of his own hip flask. Harry'd been so distracted at the party – celebrating Teddy's graduation and reuniting with James and Amelia. He hadn't been as careful as he should have been.

"I must admit, the portkey was clever," he said. "It would only work within Hogwarts grounds, and it would be undetectable. But…what would you possibly want with me?" he asked. "It appears the Blood Bond has already taken effect. If you have a body already and that's all you wanted, why even risk bringing me here when you know I could destroy your blood bond?"

This was a bluff. Draco hadn't found the book for reversal of blood bonds yet. They'd planned to search the Ministry library later that week. But if it could strike fear in Blair, it was worth the lie.

"Ah, but I don't have what I want yet. I need  _you_." She stopped circling him and stepped closer.

"I'll never help you."

"Don't be silly. I'm very persuasive. You'll do it, and you can't stop me either. Bridget is barely clinging to life, and I am the owner of this body now. I'm too strong for any reversal enchantments."

Harry stood up straighter. "There's always a way. I've seen possession before. If Bridget fights hard enough-"

"This is different from possession. This is parasitism. She's been fighting since I took over in November. Her strength is nearly gone, I've consumed it."

"Nearly does not mean  _all_ ," Harry frowned menacingly. "I'll do anything I can to save her – you've been warned."

"I'll be honest, before I actually met you, I'd be a little scared at that," Blair laughed. "I don't fear you now. You're an ex-hero. You have always been lucky, but that doesn't mean you will be. I've been preparing for tonight for a long time. Ever since Salem. I've killed quite a few people to get to where I'm standing. Your death will not stand out to me, although I'd hate to kill you before you're done being useful."

"Since Salem?" Harry took a step back.

"Oh yes. Bridget has been possessed before. It was so easy to get to her; we share a name and a history."

"But-"

"Names have power, Harry Potter," she interrupted. "Surely Voldemort taught you that. Bridget is the first of her name since…well, me. Everyone in her ancestry thought the name was cursed, and they were right. Blood bond inhabitation can become permanent if the two kinsmen share a name. Her idiot parents named her in spite of the rumors; they were so sure the curse had died. But it didn't. Strange accidents plagued the family, and Bridget's parents decided to leave the wizarding world and raise her without any magic. They thought that would be enough to keep her from me.

"I was patient; I followed Bridget, waiting for an opportune time to assert myself. I was finally able to possess her father to make him crash their car. After the accident, Bridget was adopted by wizards and sent to Cygnet's, never knowing her own parents were magical. She didn't know until she was adopted. And once I began possessing her, she could hear my thoughts, see my memories – she learned who I was and how our blood bound us together.

"I was looking for a way to permanently take control of Bridget. My goal has always been to live again – to bend magic to my will and conquer Death. I am one of very few witches who ever discovered the secrets of Death, and with that knowledge, I will summon an army of my own tonight, and rule the world of magic. Originally, I'd planned to become Master of Death myself. But back when I was alive, the chances of that were nearly impossible. I was separated from the Hallows by a vast ocean, and in those days, intercontinental travel was massively inconvenient, even for wizards. But I heard of a prophecy made by a Seer named Cassandra. It was foretold that an orphan of an orphan centuries later would become Master of Death. That put my plan in motion. If I was to seize this chance and bend the Master to  _my_  will, I could succeed. However, I needed a way to tether myself to life beyond my physical death in order to be there when the Master rose to power. I chose a Blood Bond, and lay in wait as no more than mere vapor and memory of my true self. Before I could do anything more, I needed a body that wouldn't reject me. I found one in Bridget."

"But," Harry interjected, "how did you know I was Master of Death in the first place? Why do you need me?"

"I had access to her memories. Before I was able to possess her for short periods of time, I lurked in the shadows, watching her. She knew I was there – she thought Brian Jacobs' books might chase me away. Like any silly child, she thought words could save her from me, as if I was just a monster under the bed. But those nights when he read aloud gave me more information. I learned the Tale of the Three Brothers, a different and somewhat falsified version from the one I'd heard when I was alive. But that, coupled with the information about you in The Tales of Hogwarts was enough for me to put together what Xenophilius Lovegood skated over. I could read between the lines; you'd clearly had access to the Deathly Hallows.

"From my already considerable understanding of the Hallows, you must be in possession of all of them in order to become Master of Death. I possessed Bridget one evening, broke into the museum in Salem, and stole everything I needed to find out if you were without a doubt the one person who could give me what I needed."

Harry inhaled sharply. "You mean  _you_  stole the dark arts books – and the scrying diamond…the djinni lamp…"

Blair inclined her head. "Yes. I used the books as reference when I was trying to create a blood bond. After my arrest, they were confiscated by that infernal barman, Benjamin Andrews. He even led my trial. If I'd known he was a vampire back then, I could have publicized his secret and had him executed in my place. But no matter. Those books he confiscated were still mine. They held the secrets I needed to get me to where we're standing tonight, so of course I stole them back. I used them well; I then journeyed in my phantom form to all kinds of foreign magical schools, breaking into their libraries and researching for more information. Sometimes I was seen and thought to be a ghost, but that's one mystery many will never be able to explain."

She cackled and continued, " I used the scrying diamond too . I said "Master of Death" into it, and it showed me a real-time image of none other than  _you._  The diamond cannot lie –that was my confirmation. You were the one I needed to seek. The arrival of the Master of Death and my opportunity to rise again had been heralded in American predictions since the docking of the Mayflower. And  _now,_ " she licked her lips, "it is finally time to act."

Harry didn't like the way Blair was looking at him – her eyes had a strange greed to them. "But Bridget knew about all of this," he said. "Why didn't she tell Brian about you? About the times she knew she was possessed?"

Blair laughed. "As if anyone would believe her. I will admit, at first, she put up quite a fight. If poor Bridget hadn't fought against me so much, no one would have needed to die. I just wanted to make it so Bridget had to go to Hogwarts and then I'd make my way to you. But Bridget didn't want to go, and she refused to simply tell her parents she didn't like her school and wanted to go to Hogwarts. I wasn't about to let her stubbornness win, and if that meant Cygnets had to close, I was prepared to kill for it. As soon as the Jacobs family heard about the death in the school, they shipped Bridget off to England. I sold the djinni lamp to pay for the fares and made Bridget tell Brian she had money left from her parents' fortune."

"So you killed the girl in Salem simply to get a one way ticket to Hogwarts? To find me?" Harry wanted to be sick.

She simpered, "I'm not that vicious. In fact, I wasn't initially interested in murder, but in that case it's what it took to get my way. I'm not afraid to pursue what I want – I don't let scruples stand in my way if what I want is attainable. Perhaps you could take lessons from me. Your nobility is keeping you from firing off a killing curse at Bridget to get rid of me. Isn't it?"

Harry didn't answer.

"That's what I was counting on. But, to be clear, I have never  _enjoyed_  killing," Blair continued. "In fact, I'm more interested in bringing the dead back to this world under my power. But if murder is a means to my ends, I'm not afraid of it."

A light breeze was rushing through the trees now. Harry thought he could hear something moving beyond the trees to his right, but it was masked by the whistling of the leaves and he couldn't be sure if he was imagining it.

Blair seemed to decide they'd talked for long enough. "Let's get to the point. I need something from you. And you're going to give it to me."

"I will not."

"You will," she insisted, "because I know where James and Amelia are at this very moment. And little Scorpius, if he matters to you at all. They won't make it through this if you don't comply. I've already dispatched a spell to deal with them. You help me, I end the spell. It's that simple."

With horror, Harry remembered the hex she'd cast into the trees when he'd first arrived. "What did you do? Did you bring them into the forest too?  _Why_? To be your bargaining tool?" At this point, he began to truly panic. It was one thing when only his life was on the line, but if James was involved too…

Before Harry had time to return to his senses, Blair flicked her wand. She sent ropes flying from the tip and they wrapped themselves tightly around his arms and legs. He fell backward with his limbs pressed rigidly to his sides. He knew he'd dropped his wand. He tried to feel around in the dirt for it, but all he found was something that felt like a small stone. Seized by some strange urge, he held onto it. Despite the summer air, it was ice cold against his fingers.

Blair stood over him victoriously. "Why don't you relax and stay a while? We have a lot to do. I require your blood, given willingly," she said. "It  _must_ be yours."

"Why?"

"Because you are the Master of Death. Without your consent, the portal cannot be opened. You alone can command death to release the dead back into our world. And you're going to tell them all to serve me. I desire an army fitting of the greatest witch in history. With them at my side, Death will be powerless, and magic will triumph over all things."

She might actually be just as bad as Voldemort, Harry thought.

"I can't do that," he said, still struggling against the ropes. They dug painfully into his arms.

Blair arched an eyebrow. "Are the stakes not high enough yet? I know you're a family man; you'd do anything for James and Amelia. What more do I need to do to -"

"-No! I mean I  _can't_  do all those things. I may be Master of Death, but I don't have that kind power."

She crouched down to his level and her eyes crinkled with hungry amusement. "You are a fool," she said, "if you think being Master of Death is just the ability to see spirits. You can open Death Portals, call the dead back to life, and communicate with spirits on Halloween. Death is literally your servant. Didn't you know that the Master of Death cannot die while he remains possessor of all four Hallows?"

Harry froze. "What?" That couldn't be true. Maybe her information was wrong…she  _had_  said four Hallows. He knew perfectly well there were only three. The wand, the stone, and the cloak.

She sighed and held up her dagger, admiring the glint of the blade against the faint moonlight. "All that power and it's all wasted because you don't  _know_  what you have in your reach. This would be so much easier if I were the Master. But I'll have to make do." She focused on the distant trees, ensuring they were still quite alone. "Do you give your blood willingly?"

"I-"

"I need you to say it and  _mean_  it or the spell won't work."

Harry's mind was full of images of James and Amelia and Scorpius bleeding, unconscious or worse…what if they were writhing in pain, or trapped somewhere in the forest, relying on rescue? He'd protect them first and foremost – there really only was one choice. "I give it willingly," he murmured.

Without hesitation, Blair folded back the sleeve of his robes and tossed her hair out of her eyes. She shot a nonverbal spell at the portkey cup, which flew into her hand. Harry realized she must have undone the portkey enchantment – he couldn't use the cup to escape like he'd done during the Triwizard Tournament. He closed his eyes in frustration.

Blair slid the blade eagerly across the skin of his left forearm and he hissed at the icy pain. He actually had to stifle a cry when she tightened her grip and let the blood drip into the cup.

Harry's eyes opened again; a sudden memory came to him of Dumbledore, standing with billowing robes at the entrance to a cave by the sea.  _How crude_ , he'd murmured, having realized the cave required spilled blood for passage.

In this moment, Harry agreed wholeheartedly.

Once Blair finished, she stood and walked back to the center of the clearing. She did not heal his wounds, nor did Harry expect her too. She was too busy tracing something in the air as if following a trail. "Here," she finally said, and pointed to a spot in front of her just higher than her head. "This is the crack – the rift between life and death."

That had been the exact spot he'd died and come back all those years ago. Harry recognized it – the spell would have hit him in the chest…the height was right.

Before he could say anything, before he could ask her what she was going to do, she murmured something that sounded like an incantation and poured his blood directly into that spot.

There was a sound like rushing wings, and then an eerie white light began to shine from it – illuminating a small, thin line that, Harry agreed, looked like a crack in a wall. The line began to expand and widen into a gaping mouth, through which more white light shone. It was nearly blinding, and both of them had to shade their eyes.

When the light faded, a giant, ancient-looking archway stood in front of them with a silently swaying curtain. It was strikingly familiar. Harry remembered seeing an arch exactly like this one in just one other place. There had been one in the Department of Mysteries. Sirius had fallen through it and had never returned.

"This is the death portal?" he asked, completely shaken. "I-I've seen it before."

"It's not the only one. Many exist, created either naturally or by Death himself. But the Master of Death can open one anywhere where a rift between life and death has occurred. This one is exceptionally fitting, as it is where you overcame your own death. The magic we will do tonight will be much more powerful here."

Blair's small features were hollowed out in the light glow coming from the portal; she almost looked skeletal. Harry could hear whispering coming from behind the veil, but as it had been the last time, he couldn't make out any words. He was having a hard time keeping his composure now. He was trembling, though from fear, anxiety, or pain, he wasn't sure.

Blair shot a spell at him and he flinched in surprise. But to his amazement, the bonds holding him fell away rather than tightening. Still gripping the stone in his hand, he sat up. Blood dripped onto the soil from his wound. He moved his free hand in preparation to stand, and, by some miracle, he felt the familiar shape of his wand. He pocketed it quickly, sure Blair was going to notice, but she said nothing about it. Harry then realized she wasn't even watching him; she was staring at the portal.

"Come here, Harry. You need to pull back the curtain. That way the dead will be able to walk through."

He hesitated. This felt wrong. Even if it meant he'd save his family…somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"I said  _come_ ," she demanded, flicking her wand. Harry's feet dragged themselves forward in some kind of ridiculous march until he stood directly in front of the archway.

"I can't," he said quietly, staring at the fluttering curtain.

"Oh come now. You've got some good coming out of the deal, don't forget that. When I say I'm releasing the dead and forming my army, I mean everyone comes back. Even your parents. Even those you care for who are long gone. They don't have to stay gone. You'll be  _joined_  by them."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Yes," she responded to his silent question. "You have that power. This is a gift I know you've wanted for a long time."

Hadn't Harry just been wishing he could have brought Lupin back earlier today? And now here he was, completely able to do it. But at what price? That thought stopped him, but not before his bleeding left hand reached out halfway to the arch, frozen in midair with painful yearning. Did he dare?

Then, a raucous "NOW!" sounded from the bushes to his right, and then a thestral and three eleven-year-olds leapt into the clearing, brandishing their wands.

"Dad, don't do it! You can't!" James yelled, while Scorpius and Amelia were firing hexes at Blair, who deflected them immediately. The thestral walked to the center of the clearing and fluttered its wings, as if congratulating itself on a job well done. Harry imagined it had led them here…Amelia must have been able to see it. James had told him she could see the creatures in a recent letter.

But no one had much time to reflect on this – Blair's face soured, and she cast an immobilizing jinx so powerful that it froze everyone where they stood. Even the thestral. Even Harry, with his arm still outstretched to the portal.

"ENOUGH." Blair strode toward James, who stood beside Scorpius with his wand outstretched , eyes darting in his sockets. Amelia stood behind them, clutching her wand with a fierce expression of anger.

"I see you made it past my enchantment. You're cleverer than I gave you credit for," scoffed Bridget, "but you're too late, the portal has been summoned. Harry's already agreed to open it." James' eyes found Harry's in silent, questioning outrage. Harry did his best to look stern.

Blair continued, "Harry, you  _will_ do it as you promised, or I'll have a much more creative range of punishments for these young three."

Bridget flicked her wand, and everyone found they could move again. This didn't leave any of the children any better off; they were wise enough not to try to stop Blair on their own. Harry did not let his arm fall from its outstretched position. He glanced back at the curtain he was reaching toward. His family, Sirius, Lupin, all those who had died so he could eliminate Voldemort once and for all…even Dumbledore himself…stood on the other side.

He could hear them whispering. He pictured them laughing, smiling,  _alive_. Perhaps his mind was fooling him, but in the silent rippling of the curtain, he thought he could see multiple pairs of shoes standing on the other side. They were tantalizingly close.

This was a temptation he'd experienced before – to be able to see his loved ones one more time– but never had it been so real. Harry was quite literally able to make this dream come true if he desired it. And with his gift…he'd also be saving James, Scorpius, and Amelia.

The main question was: would any of the people behind that curtain thank him for opening it? Somehow, when Harry imagined their reactions, no one would be pleased to be back in this world. Opening the portal was  _wrong_. Who was he to challenge Death? Who was he to rewrite life?

Harry let his hand fall to his side and turned to fully face the curtain. He surveyed it for a moment, but then remembered the curious stone he still had clutched in his palm. When he stared at it, it felt like his insides had suddenly vanished, leaving a hollow shell behind. That kind of sensation was to be expected; he hadn't seen this object in nineteen years. Almost to the day. He'd thought it was lost forever. He'd been happy about that.

Yet here it was; the Resurrection Stone had somehow found its way back into his hand. A Hallow, one of the gifts from Death. One of the reasons he was here tonight. And in that moment, Harry figured it out. He knew what defeating Blair would take. It was staring him right in the face.

"I'm not the chosen one," he said softly. He heard Blair moving behind him but he kept talking. "I'm a father and a friend. I'm just a person. Just Harry.  _Just_  Harry. Magic, Hallows, Master of Death – I don't need any of it to be myself. Sometimes the gifts bestowed on us are often things we do not want. I refuse to use power to enslave the dead simply for your benefit, Blair Bridget Bishops."

He drew his wand and turned to face her head on, ready to perform the rest of his plan into action. But Blair wasn't standing and listening as he expected. She instead was standing behind James, who had been forced into silence by the bloody knife and her wand – both of which were pointed at his neck.

"Him first," she said. "Then Amelia. Then Scorpius. Unless you have an opinion on the order. Perhaps let the little Slytherin reject die first? He's the weakling."

"No! Leave them alone" shrieked Amelia, but Blair pointed the wand at her.

Harry, Scoripus, and James all shouted, "NO!"

Harry raised his wand to hex Blair, but, shockingly, Amelia sent a Jolting Jinx at Harry before he could.

"Don't hurt Bridget, she's still alive!" she yelled.

A painful, prickling sensation rippled through Harry's limbs as if he'd stuck his finger in a wall socket, and he lost a grip on his wand and the stone. Both fell to the ground. Harry quickly stooped to pick up both of them, still reeling in amazement. He hadn't been magically disarmed in a very long time, let alone by Dudley's daughter. It was humbling.

"You're very good at messing up my plans, Amelia," said Blair, "but it's time I put a stop to it." She grinned widely and shot a jet of violet light straight at Amelia's heart.

Amelia ducked and held her own wand up in defense, and the spell hit it directly with an explosion of sparks. Amelia was left unharmed, but her wand was a different matter. The wood shattered immediately and fell to the forest floor, now little more than magical mulch. She glanced down at the damage as if in numb disbelief. Quiet tears forced themselves from her eyes. Scorpius took her hand and raised his own wand.

"Want me to destroy your wand too, little snake?" sneered Blair.

"Don't you dare hurt them," Harry cried. He moved closer to the portal and saw Blair's eyes follow him.

"What's stopping me? You're not fulfilling my demands."

"The portal. With one move, I can seal this portal forever. And then you're out of luck."

"You're bluffing. You don't know how to seal it. And, even if you  _could_  do that, how will you save Bridget?"

"I don't know, but we will be able to restrain you until we can. You're in the body of an eleven year-old; you're no match for us physically. People are surely going to notice we're missing and send for help soon. They can help overpower you, take you to the castle, and find a way to banish you for good."

"Yes, and they can throw a funeral for little James while they're at it." James cried out as Blair's knife drew a little blood. "That was just a warning," she snarled.

Harry stood on the precipice of his decision. It would be so easy…so…easy to just…give Blair what she wanted. To save James. To see his parents, and Sirius and Lupin…

But there had to be another way out. He'd been backed into corners before. He'd survived, gotten free, saved the day. He just had to be clever right now, and perhaps just the tiniest bit lucky.

Blair and Harry stared at each other in the dark forest shadows, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

But at that moment a red haired boy descended from the shadowed treetops on a skeletal winged horse, holding a wand aloft and wearing a green amulet around his neck.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late," Bean said with bravado. The thestral whinnied and landed gently on the forest floor. "What did I miss?"

"Bean!" Amelia cried, looking relieved but confused. "How did you find us?"

"Thestral – it found me at the party, and I hopped on; it knew exactly where to fly. Once I got my amulet back, I'd headed straight for the grounds. And then I ran into Professor Trelawney at the party and she told me horrors were happening in the forest…so I thought you could use some rescuing."

He surveyed the situation; taking in his friends' startled faces, Blair, James, the knife, and Harry, who was still bleeding.

"You must be Harry Potter," Bean said, nodding with respect. "And," he turned to Blair, " _you_  can't be Bridget – she'd never hurt her friends. What is going on here?"

"Well, well, looks like Benjamin Andrews decided to finally show up," Blair said, still not moving. Her face was full of contempt, but Harry noticed her eyes were afraid. She clearly hadn't planned on Bean being part of the events tonight.

Bean dismounted the thestral easily and started to approach. "How do you know my real name? No one calls me that. Not unless they know my father. I was named after him."

"Your father, the vampire?" Blair cackled. "We know each other quite well. I knew you'd be just as much of a thorn in my side as he was."

James frowned. "What?"

Amelia frowned with confusion. "Who's Benjamin Andrews?"

That name…Harry'd heard Blair mention it a few minutes ago. It was familiar…

"Go on, Bean," goaded Blair, "you can tell them. You're all about to die anyway."

"Not if I have any say in it," Bean said through gritted teeth. He pulled something from his pocket and held it up. It was a Cloner – everyone recognized it.

Blair laughed. "That won't work."

"I'm not sure  _what_  it's supposed to do," Bean admitted. "Trelawney just sort of handed it to me."

Blair seemed to be losing patience now. "Harry, if you don't open up that death portal right now, I will absolutely kill all of these irritating twits."

Bean raised his eyebrows. "So that's what's going on? You, whoever you are…you're possessing Bridget to make Mr. Potter open a death portal?"

He and Harry made eye contact as they both came to a realization.

"You're Benjamin Andrews' son…" Harry said slowly. "Brian Jacobs mentioned your father in a letter to me about Bridget. Your dad owned the tavern where Blair Bishops was tried for practicing the Dark Arts in Salem…"

"Still owns it, actually," Bean nodded and turned to look at Blair. "And you're Blair Bishops, aren't you? Taking over Bridget's body? My father still mentions you sometimes, like a ghost story – he could never prove it, but he felt like you lingered after you died. You were his one regret. He wished you'd been caught and hanged sooner. Before you'd killed your own child. I don't know how you did it, how you ended up here. I just care about how we can stop you."

Blair rolled her eyes. "I don't have time for this. You're just as impertinent as your father. It seems he's cursed you in every way possible. Terrible genes, annoying personality, penchant for blood…"

"That may be true," Bean said, looking down at the amulet on his chest as if a thought had just occurred to him. "But…he might have just given me a way to defeat you once and for all." He lifted the amulet from his neck and pulled it off, letting it dangle in front of him.

For the first time, Blair flinched. "What do you think that will do? It's just a necklace."

"No, it isn't. This is the Bloodstone." Bean approached, growing more confident. "This is one of the most powerful magical artifacts around, and it only obeys me."

He kept walking, and threw the Cloner to Amelia.

She caught it in bewilderment. "Bean?"

"When I say, hold it up and let it absorb the magic." He kept walking forward.

Blair dropped the knife and slid from behind James, freeing him at last. Harry watched as she retreated slowly, until she was backed up against the portal.

"What are you going to do?" Scorpius asked. He raised his wand again, ready to point it at Blair. She was too distracted to disarm him.

Bean held up the amulet as his answer.

Harry interjected – "But Bean, using that much magic might come at a price. If what James and Amelia have told me is true, you rely on it to stave off your cravings for blood. If you succeed in banishing Blair for good, that might expend all the power of the Bloodstone. You might not be able to use it again."

"I don't care," he said, taking a step forward. "No one messes with my friends. It would be selfish of me to keep it when someone else was in need of it. Bridget is my friend. She and I are in the same house. We trust each other and help each other. She was always better at the Ravenclaw Tower riddles than me; she was kind when she found out what I am. We're each other's family. I'd do anything to save her. She's worth far more to me than my own happiness."

Blair tried to protest, but there was nowhere to run or escape. She couldn't disapparate, the portkey was disabled, she couldn't run fast enough to lose all of them, and she was vastly outnumbered. With wands trained on her, sensing her weakness for the first time, she'd lost all hope of an upper hand. She no longer had a hold over any of them.

No one dared ask what would happen if Bean's sacrifice didn't work. It was their only hope.

Bean held the amulet in front of him, bracing himself for what he had to do. He took a deep breath, and muttered an incantation. " _Deiectionem_ ," he whispered, and a bright green light shone from the stone, directly at Blair.

She sank to her knees with a shudder, leaving a dark shadowy shape in the place where she'd been standing. Blair was at last separated from Bridget's body.

"Now!" cried Bean, and Amelia lunged forward with the Cloner in her palm – she held it out and the shadow was pulled into the stone. It looked like candle smoke, but in reverse, sucked back into the wick until nothing remained. Just the way it had happened on the Hogwarts Express that previous fall.

Bridget crumpled to the ground. The stone sat on Amelia's palm, and she looked at it with the kind of revulsion saved for something smeared on the bottom of her shoe. Without hesitation, she flung the stone into the portal. It passed through the curtain, leaving behind only a rippling of the fabric, and a relieved tension that made them all sag a little.

Harry and Amelia, who were closest to Bridget, bent down and began to examine her for signs of life. Scorpius and James came running forward to help.

"Is everyone okay?" asked Harry. He did not put down his wand.

"I think so," they muttered. Everyone looked shaken. James' neck was still bleeding, staining his white shirt. Amelia's hand was covered in splinters from where her wand had exploded. Scorpius was pale and covered in scratches from when he'd run through the forest, but he seemed to be the best off of the three.

Bridget was unconscious, but her heartbeat was detectable. Harry used several spells to try and revive her, but she stayed still with her eyes closed. Her skin was like ice and her eyelids were bruised from lack of sleep. Harry remembered the way Ginny had looked after being possessed by Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, and felt a swell of pity for Bridget. She may have just tried to kill them all, but it wasn't her fault.

He just hoped they'd be able to save her. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey would know what to do.

While the children gathered around, holding Bridget's hands and stroking her hair, Harry stood up. He noticed Bean had kept his distance. He was kneeling on the ground farther back, clutching the Bloodstone amulet and staring at the portal.

When Harry approached, Bean looked up. "It broke, just like you said it would." He held up the Bloodstone; sure enough, there was a crack down the middle of it, and the glowing light that seemed to have been coming from it was gone. It looked…well, dead.

"My father will be disappointed. This was supposed to protect me. It was also supposed to protect other people  _from_  me. What will I do without it? I'm just going to get worse. What if I hurt someone? Because of what I am?"

Harry crouched beside Bean and put a hand on his shoulder. "I think your father will be proud. You did something extremely honorable, and you have people who will do everything they can to protect you the way you did for them tonight. In fact, tonight made me wonder why you're not in Gryffindor."

"I almost was," Bean said, looking surprised. "But then I argued with the hat and told it I'm more creative than brave. I let my brain do the heavy lifting in my choices, not my heart. And I asked it to put me somewhere else. So it did. Nobody else knows that, though."

"It did the same for me," said Harry. "I understand. And I wanted to say thank you. You saved a lot of lives today."

James approached them and sat down across from Bean. "Thank you," he agreed.

Bean shrugged modestly.

"Would you have done it?" James asked his father. "Opened the portal? To save us, if Bean hadn't shown up?"

Harry didn't answer. He was still watching Bean. The boy was staring at the blood dripping from Harry's arm with a mixture of revulsion and longing.

They all were distracted by Amelia, who called out from her spot at Bridget's side, "How are we going to get back?"

It was a legitimate question. No one knew the paths of the forest well enough, and the thestrals had disappeared during the fight. It seemed they were on their own, unless they could somehow magically send for help. Perhaps they could send up sparks and hope someone saw?

But their solution arrived without anyone needing to take any action. A rumbling noise sounded from the distance, and then two bright yellow lights began to emerge. There were snapping noises, as if whatever it was happened to be felling trees on its way. In what felt like no time at all, something large and blue burst into the clearing.

If Harry had any doubt that today was quite possibly one of the most dangerous, strange, and unpredictable in his life, this made him sure of it. Because what came to their rescue was none other than a gigantic, ancient-looking blue Ford Anglia, covered in forest grime and leaves. The car swerved into the clearing and slammed to a squeaky stop. Then the front doors opened, and two people got out.

"Anyone need a ride?" asked Teddy Lupin, leaning against the car. Victoire walked around from the passenger side and stood next to him, taking his hand.

"How?" asked Harry, nonplussed. "Just…how?"

"My best guess is that the car knows when its friends are in trouble," smiled Teddy. "It showed up, opened its doors, and beckoned. We got in, and it took us where we needed to go." He paused to take in the scene. "I take it I shouldn't ask why there's a giant stone archway in the middle of the woods?"

"Exactly," said Harry.

They successfully carried Bridget to the car and the children filed in after. Once everyone was stowed, if slightly cramped, it became obvious that Harry hadn't gotten in. Teddy held out a hand as if to help him into a seat, but Harry resisted.

"Come back for me, please," he said. "There's something more I still have to do."


	40. Periculum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closure.

During the ride to the hospital wing, Amelia sat squeezed against the window in the backseat of the Ford Anglia. James and Scoripus were pressed so close that she could hardly move, though Bean was just as limited for space in the front seat. It seemed that the front of the car had been badly bent in some kind of accident; the metal was warped and rusted.

Everyone was quiet, pretending Bridget wasn't lying unconscious across their laps in the backseat by watching as Teddy did his best to steer. If "steer" was the right word. He wasn't really in control of the vehicle; it seemed to have a mind of its own, only responding to Teddy's driving when it felt like doing so. At one point, he actually gave up and turned around in his seat as the car crashed through the foliage.

"Everyone okay?"

"Well enough," Scorpius replied, looking green. "But I think we need to go to the hospital wing."

When Teddy's eyebrows furrowed with concern, Amelia took it upon herself to explain. She told him the basics of what had happened, avoiding the subject of the death portal for the most part. But when she mentioned her wand had been broken in the fight, he actually looked delighted.

"Wait, do you have the pieces?"

She passed them over to him. He took them in both hands, leaving the steering wheel to move freely on its own. Amelia tried not to worry about that, but couldn't completely quash her unease.

"I can try to fix this wand. That's my area of study - I'm starting work at Ollivander's soon. This can be my first project, if you don't mind. If I fix it, I'll give it back to you." Teddy rummaged in his pocket for a moment, and pulled out a long, sleek, black wand. "Take this one in the meantime. As a future wandmaker, I've learned to always have an extra on hand."

Amelia took it gratefully, but tilted her head. "But Teddy, does this belong to someone? Don't they need it back?"

"Dunno. I just found it. No one came looking for it, so I don't mind passing it on to someone who needs it. Wands without owners still need love," he shrugged. He glanced back at the front and turned a few dials on the car dashboard. "See if it takes to you. It won't be the best fit, but it'll keep your parents from having to buy a new one so soon."

"Thank you," she said, rolling the wand between her fingers. A few gold sparks flew out the end; apparently that was a good sign, because Teddy gave her an encouraging smile.

That smile disappeared in an instant, as the car lifted off from the ground without warning and shot into the sky. It soared over the trees, heading for the distant orange lights of the castle. The graduation party had already disbanded, for the grounds were quiet and covered in matted grass from the multitude of footsteps.

Bean and Amelia both covered their faces in fright, but in a moment, a sharp bump told them they'd landed again. There were some groans and grinding noises coming from the car as it skidded to a halt, and then Amelia deemed it safe to open her eyes again. They were parked horizontally outside the infirmary, and a bedraggled Madame Pomfrey came sprinting out of the door, her cap on backwards and her eyes alight with worry.

Teddy was the only one to exit the vehicle smoothly. Everyone else began an awkward dance to extricate themselves while keeping Bridget steady. Nothing seemed to wake her.

Once they were inside, Madame Pomfrey appeared awake enough to start giving orders; each of them were taken to a bed and told to stay put. As she began pouring liquids into vials and charming bandages to loop around their scratches and cuts, Teddy retreated slowly from the room.

Amelia watched him go, wondering why Mr. Potter had stayed behind.

* * *

Harry waited until Teddy and the blue Ford Anglia had disappeared into the shadows before he walked nervously back to the Death Portal. This wasn't over yet.

If Blair Bishops could be believed, the Master of Death would never be able to die unless the uniting of the Hallows was broken somehow. If Harry did not act now, people like Blair could seek his power forever, endangering the lives of everyone he loved. Worse, the portal, if left open, might let something dangerous through. While it was tempting to explore what he was capable of, Harry had a feeling he'd rather not know.

Being Master of Death, opening the portal…it was power he had never even wanted; it was power he needed to get rid of. He had a plan, but it was dangerous at best. At worst…

He rolled the Resurrection Stone between his fingers.

This kind of magic had never been attempted before. He was once again in a realm that had never been explored. But, the risk would be worth the outcome. When Dumbledore had visited Harry on Halloween, he had certainly believed Harry's powers could fix this rift between life and death. But how could he know if Harry would do the right thing and give up his power?  _You are a brave, brave man_ , he'd said.

And Harry decided: if being brave meant risking everything to fix this mess, he would do it.

As he stood before the stone arch and fluttering curtain, he could hear the quiet whisperings subside into an unprecedented silence. In an eerie moment, he had the distinct realization those on the other side were waiting for him to say something. And he knew who was there, listening.

He cleared his throat experimentally, and the curtain moved in an invisible wind. There was no response or sound. Harry held out the stone, cradling it in his palms. He stared at it, not sure where to start.

He thought back to when he and Hermione had visited the graveyard in Godric's Hollow to see his parents' gravestones. Or, after the Battle of Hogwarts, when he'd attended seven funerals in eight days, speaking at most of them with words of hope he didn't really believe at the time. In all those situations, he had been distraught and unable to fully say goodbye. But now, alone in the forest with just a curtain between him and all those he had lost, Harry felt he could finally say what he should have said back then. It was as if he was eleven years old, standing in front of the Mirror of Erised again with the missing parts of his family he desired just out of reach. He pictured all of them: Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, Fred, his parents…

He began in a soft voice. "I don't know if you're all there. But I've longed to speak to you for so long. Mum and Dad, I know it's hard to sound sincere when I say I miss what I don't remember. But I do. Not growing up with you both beside me has made my life feel empty many times; I've tried to fill that void with adventures, hoping to make you both proud. But I know that's not what this is really about. You've always been in my heart, making me brave and reckless and loving. You died to protect me, to give me life. I want to think I've used my chance to make the world better. I hope that's true. And while I know my challenges are far from over, I was able to face what I've faced because of your sacrifice, and the sacrifices of the people who carried on your legacy as my family. I'm trying to be that person for James and Albus and Lily. And for Amelia. For Teddy. I've learned from all of you: the love of family can break the bonds of death, heal wounds, and outlast time."

He swallowed. "I hope that I may see all of you again someday, after this business with the Hallows is finished and I have left this life. But for now, I have promises to keep as a father and a friend. I want to say thank you for leaving such an imprint on my heart. I will honor you. So please, understand and forgive me for what I am about to do."

There was a silence, but it wasn't the cold quiet of the impassive dead. It was a passage of understanding; a lull in a conversation with someone who knew well enough that some empty spots in speaking didn't need to be filled.

They were affirming his choice, and this spurred Harry on with more vigor. He knew he needed to do it soon, before Teddy came back asking questions. Teddy must never know the truth about this portal; about the Lupin family that waited behind it. If he did, Harry wasn't sure if he could stop Teddy from running straight at it. Teddy missed his parents as Harry had missed his; and as both orphans knew well, that kind of yearning could be powerfully destructive.

He stepped closer, gripping the stone in one hand and drawing his wand with the other. "It feels like I'm abandoning all of you by closing this portal, but that's not true. I may miss you – achingly so – but my place is with the living. I'll do what it takes to make sure someday I greet Death and part this life as his equal, not his master."

He stared at the curtain intently, and finished, "Therefore, Death, I respectfully return to you the Resurrection Stone. I ask that you close this portal, and resolve the rift that has split this place. In time, I will return your other Hallows, I promise. And if you know me, you know I keep my promises."

With this last statement, Harry threw the Resurrection Stone as hard as he could through the veil. It bounced against the curtain for a precarious moment, and Harry had the horrible thought that it would refuse to go through, but then it slipped through like a pebble into water, rippling the curtain silently. The whisperings beyond the veil started up again, growing louder and louder until they were a deafening cacophony of unintelligible sound.

Harry ran from the portal as quickly as he could, sensing some great release of magic was imminent. Sure enough, when he risked a glance over his shoulder, the stone arch cracked with the sound of a gunshot, and the portal imploded with so much force that nearby trees groaned and snapped in the shockwave.

He was knocked to his knees and he crouched down, putting his hands over his ears to dull the howl. When the roar finally faded away to the faint chirping of crickets, Harry looked up to see the portal was gone. He could feel the magic of the place had changed; it was stronger, deeper, more serious than any magical trace he'd ever found before. But it was his signature magic, it was proof it had worked. Death had taken back the stone.

Harry was freed from being Master of Death. Perhaps the wand and cloak still tethered him to life, but only time would tell for sure. Those would be easier to return, anyway. He knew exactly where both of them were. The cloak, however, he'd only give up when he was ready.

He turned his attention back to the present as a wave of emotion finally descended upon him. He needed to get back to Hogwarts. His thoughts flashed to Bridget's limp body, and Amelia's pale face…James with his knit brow, who made the same face as Ginny when she was worried. He'd almost lost his son tonight.

He finally stood up and leaned against a tree to wait for Teddy, trying to control the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. After some time, the headlights of the blue Ford Anglia began to weave their way through the trees like glowing yellow eyes. Harry wiped his eyes, prepared his story, and waved to his godson.

* * *

When Teddy pulled up, Harry opened the crunched passenger's side door and squeezed into the cramped space, murmuring a mild word of thanks.

"Are you going to explain any of this to me?" the boy asked. Even in the faint light of the windshield, his hair glowed phosphorescent blue. He was still wearing his graduation robes, but Harry noted Amelia's broken wand was tucked in the left side pocket.

"Not until you're older."

Teddy surveyed his godfather carefully. "You look terrible, by the way." The car shifted into gear and began to roll forward. "Did you want to drive? I forgot to ask."

"Don't know how."

Teddy finally cracked a crooked smile that reminded Harry painfully of Lupin. "Maybe you should take lessons this summer. I think Uncle Ron might be interested."

An imaginary scene surfaced in Harry's mind, of him and Ron careening down old country roads in a runaway car while brandishing wands in terror. It was reminiscent of the last time either of them had been behind the wheel of the Ford Anglia. He grimaced.

"Let's focus on one thing at a time. Can we go to the hospital wing? I want to see my son."

"Absolutely." Teddy patted the car dashboard and said, "All right, let's step on it."

The car purred, and then shot forward like a bullet.

* * *

In the dull light of the torches on the wall in the infirmary, the bedposts on Amelia's left cast a shadow over Bridget's unconscious form. James, Scorpius, and Bean had all been thrust into hospital beds too, though, like Amelia, their injuries were far less severe.

James had a few cuts from branches during their run through the Forbidden Forest, and there was caked blood on the collar of his shirt from where Blair had held the knife against his neck. However, the wounds had been tended to in a heartbeat, and he sat alert in a bed to the right of Amelia's with the covers pulled up to his chest.

Scorpius had fought hard to stay awake, but the events of the night had evidently worn him out more than he had let on. Despite his best efforts to stay awake in solidarity, he quickly dropped off into a fitful sleep, without even removing his shoes or getting under the covers.

Bean was the least banged-up of all of them, although Amelia had a feeling he wasn't as okay as he seemed. He sat in silence, cross-legged on his own bed beside Scorpius. He was too far away from Amelia and James to talk comfortably, so he was leaned against the headboard, staring straight at the wall ahead. He had his mouth open, idly prodding at his tiny fangs with his tongue. Clearly lost in thought, he held the Bloodstone amulet cradled in his hands, but it no longer glowed green.

Amid the stillness and waiting of the five patients, Madame Pomfrey was an epicenter of movement; she bustled about the room, muttering to herself, unaware her spectacles had been hastily put on at a lopsided angle.

She'd now shifted her focus to Bridget alone, working so intensely that Amelia truly wondered if Bridget was going to live. Doctors at a strange place that sounded like a hospital called Mangos (or was it  _Mungos_?) had already been summoned. From the look on James' face, that wasn't a good sign.

Fortunately, Amelia's worry didn't have the chance to reach its dizzying peak, because at that moment, Professor Trelawney billowed into the room with the clang of a slamming door. Her frizzy hair was still pinned back, as it had been at the graduation reception, and she was still wearing a gauzy peach shawl over dress robes. Her eyes, magnified into giant blue orbs by her huge glasses, fixed on Amelia at once.

In no time at all, she was standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at Amelia with a disconcertingly pleased expression.

"Ahhhhh. It happened, didn't it?" she said ethereally. "I'd been waiting to sense your return."

Amelia stole a look at James, and they both raised eyebrows in bewilderment.

"A lot happened tonight," James pointed out. "Giant snakes attacked, evil versions of our friend tried to kill us, my dad opened a death portal, some of us were even held at knifepoint...could you be slightly more specific?"

Trelawney didn't answer, and instead cast a glance at Bridget. What she saw apparently answered her strange question, because she nodded gravely to herself. Then, to Amelia's surprise, she turned to Bean.

"Benjamin," she said. "It  _is_  Benjamin, right?"

Bean, who had been zoning out with glazed eyes, started at the use of his full name. "Yeah?"

"You used it? The cloner I gave you at the party?" Trelawney prompted.

He nodded.

"What does she mean?" asked Amelia, frowning.

"Well, it's a long story. But originally, there was a stockpile of cloners hidden under the floor by a suit of armor that tells jokes," began Bean. "I found them one afternoon by accident."

"We found those cloners too," Amelia said, incredulous. "Well, Scorpius did. And James suggested we leave them alone. But by Halloween, when you got turned into a cat, we discovered they were gone-"

"-Because I'd moved them a few days before that," Bean supplied, "I took them and hid them behind the bookcase in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, in case somebody was up to something. I thought somebody might have it out for Bridget, after she told me what happened to you guys on the train here. Maybe I was right."

"You were, my dear," Trelawney smiled, adjusting her kooky spectacles. "I had been secretly hiding them for some time, for my Inner Eye sensed a great magical disturbance in the future. I didn't know what role cloners might play, but I was the one who put them there. I felt an urge to do so, and Seers always know when to trust their instincts. When I discovered they were gone, I searched until my Inner Eye revealed to me where they were this very afternoon. I entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and found them hidden behind the books on the back shelf. I took one, for the Fates had revealed to me that a redhead would be in need of one tonight at the reception, and that it would help you save the American girl. And my efforts seem to have paid off for you tonight; from what I understand, Benjamin, you were successful. I am glad."

Bean furrowed his brow. "You foresaw me? If you knew more, why not just tell me what to do, instead of handing me a rock and telling me to go into the forest?"

"One does not interfere with Fate," she stated, giving Amelia a strange look. Then she turned abruptly and walked away.

Amelia didn't feel like this was very helpful. She wanted to ask Trelawney more questions, but the professor had already crossed the room to where Madame Pomfrey was mixing six vials of different colored potions for Bridget. They began to talk in sharp, indistinguishable whispers. Amelia turned her attention back to Bean.

"What did she mean when she said you were 'successful' tonight?  _Trelawney_  gave you the cloner we caught Blair with?"

He nodded, tufts of red hair flopping forward. "After I left the graduation reception, I went back up to the castle to get my amulet. And while I was up there, I found a note left in the common room that Bridget had written to our head of house. Although now, I think, it was Blair who really wrote it. It said Bridget had decided to leave for America that night, and that she wasn't coming back. But Bridget had never mentioned leaving to me, and I knew she loved it here; I figured something was up. I had more than that letter as cause to be suspicious, though.

"One thing most people don't know about vampires, or even half-vampires, is that we can smell blood. What's in it, whose it is, that kind of thing. We smell when something has tainted it. And I smelled something different on Bridget after Halloween; I was never able to figure out why. Although, it makes more sense now. I must have been smelling Blair."

"That's right," James blinked. "We found out from my father that Blair did some sort of blood enchantment on Bridget since they're distantly related. It allowed Blair to possess her and make her do what she did tonight. You must have been able to tell when she got possessed. And we got lucky; your Bloodstone amulet was probably our only hope at saving her."

"But you got your amulet this morning," Amelia frowned. "And Blair wasn't affected by it until tonight."

"She avoided me like the plague all day." Bean's eyes widened as he realized why. "Even when we were near to each other in the library this morning, she stayed far away. That would have been enough, anyway. Unless I  _use_  the Bloodstone with intention, which wouldn't have occurred to me then, it would at the most have just caused her some pain and annoyance. It wouldn't have banished her. It really only worked in the forest because I  _knew_  what to ask of the amulet and it drew on my magic to do it."

"But why would Blair wait to possess her until Halloween? You lost the amulet that night, but if it wouldn't have really harmed her unless you asked it to, it shouldn't have prevented the possession."

The three of them thought in silence for a long time.

"I don't know," Bean said finally. "Something else is at work. Maybe it has to do with the cloners. When I found Bridget's note, I raced back down to the party to find you guys, but all I found was Trelawney. She seemed to have been expecting me, and told me I'd better take a cloner with me just in case. She even had one with her. It must have been one of the ones I'd found stockpiled."

"How do you know that?" asked James.

"Well, I didn't at the time, but it makes sense now. See, last fall, I did extra research on cloners when I first discovered the pile of them. When a lot of cloners are stored together, they strengthen each other's powers. Something about scolecite, the type of magic stone that's used to make them, can charge the other cloners around it when they're close enough. Any one cloner selected from the pile would have been easily ten times as powerful as one that had been alone for a long time. That's probably why it was able to absorb all of Blair tonight. Any old cloner probably wouldn't have worked."

This conjured up an image in Amelia's mind – the night of her detention, when her cloner had conjured not a  _Lumos_  spell, but terrifying, whispering black ghost. Could her own cloner have been powerful to absorb Blair herself in the Forbidden Forest? Was she responsible for bringing Blair into the castle and allowing Bridget to be possessed? Even if that had happened, how could it have been possible?

Her brain was too tired to process much more; she was practically trembling with exhaustion. But she'd refused a Sleeping Draught, because she was worried about Bridget, and she wanted to make sure Mr. Potter found his way back with Teddy. Once she knew everyone was safe, she could relax enough to sleep soundly. At least a broken wand was one less thing she'd have to worry about.

The wand she'd been given now was tucked under her pillow as she sat in the infirmary. She figured she'd keep Teddy's gift quiet, just in case someone really was missing this wand. She didn't want him to get in trouble. They'd all had plenty of trouble for one night already, between all of them, and anything more could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, the Epilogue!


	41. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more to a family than just blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story now has some beautiful fanart made by [therodrigator6](https://therodrigator6.tumblr.com/). You can view it [here!](https://splitting-infinities.tumblr.com/tagged/dudley%27s-daughter-fanart)

The Healers from the magical hospital arrived early the following morning, when it was still dark. Evidently there was already line of well-wishers outside the infirmary, consisting of Hagrid, Trelawney, Victoire, Harry Potter, and Teddy Lupin. Amelia hadn't been able to ask if her own father was on his way, but a quick glance at the shadows in the rippled glass windows outside the entrance told her he wasn't there now.

Mr. Potter and Teddy had been there since the previous night, when they'd come out of the forest looking windblown and slightly queasy from the car ride. After allowing them to check on everyone, and after a cut on Mr. Potter's arm was patched up, Madame Pomfrey had insisted the men wait in the hall to allow everyone to get some rest. At the time, Amelia had thought this outrageous, but she eventually viewed it as merciful. She was finally able to sneak a few hours of sleep.

By three in the morning, when the doors to the infirmary creaked open to admit the Healers, Amelia was awake again. She pretended to be asleep, of course, but kept one eye open to observe the new company. There were three men, all very old and bearded, with wizened eyes and gentle expressions. They remained calm and silent, and walked with white robes billowing as Madame Pomfrey led them to Bridget.

The tallest one approached and muttered a few complicated-sounding enchantments. After waiting a few minutes, the others cast complimentary spells. Soothing lavender and lemon colored lights emanated from the wands, and in the multicolor shadows, Amelia noticed the Healers frowning in concentration. The spells began to fade after several minutes, at which time the spells were recast. This continued for a long time, with a few pauses every now and then to try new spells with different lights – tangerine and magenta and even a nasty looking pea-green – but nothing happened as far as Amelia could tell. Then, after what felt like hours, the shortest wizard, now sweating, paused to inspect Bridget's vitals and let out a gasp of excitement. The other two let their spells cease and stepped back, looking relieved.

Bridget was finally stirring.

Amelia felt herself exhale fully for the first time.

"Just as I suspected," announced the tallest Healer in a low whisper. "It's quite unusual: there was some thestral blood in her system interfering with her healing process. We have since purged it, though the continuation of her blood cleansing will still need to be aided by your Transfusion Potions," he nodded at Madame Pomfrey. "She will recover in time. The dark magic cast on her has ceased; whoever set the spell is no longer tied to her."

Amelia didn't dare move, but felt like jumping on her bed and cheering. She hardly dared to believe it. They'd saved her after all.

"Now that she's begun to wake," said the short Healer, "our presence here is no longer required; she is in very capable hands."

Madame Pomfrey beamed. "If you'd like, I'll have someone escort to the office of the Headmistress. There might be some incident paperwork for you to fill out, and we can discuss payment."

She led the way out of the hospital wing, and Amelia saw the shadow of Teddy Lupin depart with the Healers in pursuit of McGonagall's office. When Madame Pomfrey returned, Mr. Potter entered behind her.

Bridget woke up very slowly; Madame Pomfrey and Mr. Potter had already been talking for nearly a quarter of an hour before she finally opened her eyes. Amelia sat up and watched patiently as her friend's eyes moved around the room, taking in the scene of the hospital wing, and finally rested on her.

Amelia said nothing, but leaped off her bed and scurried to her friend's side.

The sudden movement distracted Madame Pomfrey from her discussion with Mr. Potter. "Let that poor girl rest, get back to bed," the matron demanded.

But Bridget's sea-colored eyes were sparkling with a lucid, genuine life Amelia realized she hadn't seen in a long time.

"Oh, please," Bridget protested. "I feel fine."

"You need your rest."

Amelia chimed in, "Oh, go on, Madame Pomfrey, please?"

Both girls widened their eyes beseechingly. Miraculously, it worked.

"You have ten minutes," the nurse said with a raised eyebrow, then resumed her conversation with Mr. Potter.

Amelia sat on the edge of Bridget's bed. "Are you really feeling okay?" she asked.

"I feel a lot better now."

"How much do you remember?"

She grimaced in response. "Everything, unfortunately. Even the stuff that wasn't me doing it. I'm so sorry, Amelia. I should have told you everything on the train here, and I just didn't think anybody would believe me. But then after Halloween I wasn't able to tell you – she…well, she made me do all kinds of things, and I couldn't help it, and I couldn't tell anyone, I couldn't even be myself. She had total control…"

"I know, don't worry, we got rid of Blair. We sealed her in a cloner and locked her inside the death portal Mr. Potter opened. But how did she possess you in the first place? You were fine until Halloween."

Bridget blinked slowly, registering the question. "You know, I think I can answer that. I thought about it when she had control of me, since there wasn't much else I could do. I had access to her memories and she to mine, so I think I know. Do you remember the day we met in Diagon Alley?"

"Yes! All the lights went out in Gringotts when you walked in."

"Well, when I got to England, I thought Blair was following me, but I was still free. I suspected she wasn't gone for good, of course; I had this feeling she was still close. But the moment I entered the bank, she vanished somehow. I think it has to do with the building itself – it was patched up with scolecite, the same material used in cloners. It's a special kind of stone, magicians like it because it can hold onto magic well. So when I walked into Gringotts, the scolecite must have been prevented Blair from entering. I suspect she got absorbed into the stone for a while, until the magic wore off and she was expelled again. When you and I met again in Ollivander's, I was still myself. Blair followed me eventually, but she wasn't strong enough to possess me; the stone barrier weakened her, I think."

Amelia sat up straight in realization. "The same thing must have happened on the train, when the lights went out and that thing came through the window! The floors could have had the same kind of stone. The floors on the train were all cracked and repaired, and it would make sense that Hogwarts used that kind of material to repair their damages. It would certainly explain why Blair's form got absorbed into the floor on the train."

"Exactly," Bridget exclaimed, eyes wide. "I bet you're right! And it was lucky that happened, too. It allowed me to enter Hogwarts without Blair. I was perfectly safe from possession when we were in the castle. Blair lurked in the forest after she escaped the stone again. She wasn't able to get inside the castle in that form, because the walls would absorb her. From what memories I saw from her, she definitely tried. A lot. It weakened her so much that she needed magical help to become powerful enough to possess me for more than a few minutes."

Amelia exhaled. "What kind of magical help?"

Bridget gagged at the memory. "Well, you're not going to like this bit. But at the Quidditch game – Gryffindor against Ravenclaw – I got possessed. That's why I disappeared before the end of the match. Blair made me leave the Quidditch pitch and go into the forest. I…I killed a thestral, and had to…drink the blood."

Amelia gasped so loud that Madame Pomfrey hurried over, insisting they be separated so Bridget could rest.

Both girls protested so much that Mr. Potter interceded on their behalf: "Here's a suggestion. If they are allowed to finish their discussion, they agree to then go to bed without argument."

The sternness in his eyes compelled them to agree, and so they were left alone once more.

Bridget continued, "The…the blood allowed Blair to possess me for longer, and it strengthened her. Her memories had a lot of information on thestral blood; I think it was in one of those dark arts books she stole in Salem."

"That's horrible!"

"Oh yes, it was. But to avoid suspicion, she had to let me go back into the castle anyway. As soon as I went back inside the castle, she got ejected again. But I knew if it kept happening she'd get strong enough that the barrier might not be a problem anymore. And eventually, that happened."

Amelia sat back, her throat tightening. "Oh, no. I think I know how she overcame the barrier."

She told Bridget about her detention in the forest, her cloner, and the black shape that had been released into the castle when she'd muttered the password in the dormitory that night. It appeared she'd been right after all – her cloner had brought Blair safely into the castle.

Bridget nodded. "That's probably what caused it. The walls of Hogwarts were designed to keep bad things out, but once they are inside, I have a feeling the protection doesn't work the same way." Then, observing Amelia's forlorn face, she added, "Don't feel bad, you couldn't have predicted what it was going to do!"

"Still, I can't help but feel responsible."

"Don't, really!"

After a moment of quiet, Bridget took it upon herself to continue. It seemed to be helping her to finally talk about all of this after being trapped in her thoughts for so long.

"Once Blair was in the castle, I got possessed more frequently, but there were still times I could escape it. I know now that Bean's Bloodstone amulet made Blair weaker, but back then all I knew was I could sometimes assert my consciousness when he was around. I think it was the only thing keeping her from possessing me permanently. Then, after Halloween, Bean lost the Bloodstone. But I didn't know that originally; all I knew was that something had changed and nothing seemed to fend her off. That next night…" she broke off, lifting her eyes in an attempt to stifle tears that had welled in her eyes. It didn't work for long though, and soon they spilled over onto her parchment-pale cheeks.

Amelia patted her shoulder, knowing better than to prompt a response too soon.

When she was ready to keep going, Bridget took a shuddering breath. "She made me kill another thestral, even though it had foals that would be left to die. I tried to fight against Blair, but I couldn't overpower her, and she still made me do it. The blood made her strong enough to maintain the possession even with the scolecite barriers at the castle entrances. After that, I was trapped permanently. Blair wrote to my parents as me, and convinced them I wanted to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas; she wanted to research in the library to find out everything she could about Harry Potter. And I started to learn just how serious this all was."

"Oh, Bridget," Amelia's face crumpled and soon both of them were crying and apologizing.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I got everyone hurt and nearly killed! And-" Bridget took a moment to sniffle, and Amelia filled the silence.

"It wasn't your fault. I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that. I'm so sorry I let Blair in after detention, if I had known-"

"You couldn't have known."

"But I could have!" she said. "I'm a Seer, I should have seen it coming. In better detail."

Bridget looked at her with endearing exasperation. "Even Seers have blind spots. And it seems like Trelawney will help you with that in time. Besides, you did everything you could, and I'm really glad you did. You all saved my life tonight. Thank you."

"You should be thanking Mr. Potter," Amelia said, as her eye caught on him in his discussion with Madame Pomfrey. "He did most of the work."

"I will eventually," her friend replied, stifling a yawn. "But I think we have to uphold our promise to them that we'd sleep now."

"Yeah, get some rest. What are you staying up talking to me for?" Amelia asked with a quirky grin. She stood to walk back to her own bed.

"I missed you," Bridget said, lying back against her pillows. "Even though I saw you every day. You know? It wasn't the same when I couldn't be, well,  _me_."

"I know what you mean. And I missed you too."

* * *

Amelia drifted in and out of sleep until around seven in the morning. When she awoke, she felt infinitely better, and her mood only improved when she was told James and Bean had been released from the hospital wing. According to Madame Pomfrey, she was free to join them. Bridget would stay, resting, but would be able to accompany them on the train home tomorrow morning.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Amelia, James, and Scorpius spent the morning reclining in squashy armchairs, observing the orbit of students around them, not even slightly inclined to join in. They were all still rather exhausted, but that did not stop students from approaching them with questions about the night before. The trio evaded answering as best they could; even James' penchant for telling grand stories seemed muted today. Perhaps it was out of respect for Bridget's privacy, but no one wanted to say what really happened. It was better to let the rumors spread and die without validity. And spread they did.

All day, new stories buffeted the group. They seeped into the atmosphere as Amelia sat in the Great Hall for lunch, rustled with the leaves as she read with Bean under the giant tree by the lake, and crept into her ears as she began packing her trunk before dinner. She heard the whispers of flying vampires, ravenous werewolves, and first years battling ghosts in the forest.

These stories were largely unheeded by the practical, although Harry Potter's presence was a truth no one could deny. He'd caused a significant stir, and had, Claire Perch told the table at dinner, been sighted entering McGonagall's office that morning. He'd left the office in a hurry, run straight back to the infirmary, and after a hurried exchange with Bridget Bishops, had made a hasty departure from the school.

Later that night, the trio stayed up late by the extinguished fire in the common room, sorting through the detritus of their schoolbags in preparation for the journey home. When the subject turned to Claire's news about Mr. Potter, James merely shrugged. Not even he could explain his father's strange behavior.

"Don't know what he'd be worried about  _now_. The danger's all over," he said as he emptied a handful of paper scraps into the rubbish bin. "I'm surprised he even stayed this long. Didn't say goodbye, but I wouldn't expect him to, he's going to see me tomorrow at the station with your dad anyway."

They soon moved on to other topics of conversation, mainly concerning the train home. Everyone's minds were focused on preparing for the return to London. Amelia was already anticipating seeing her parents standing on the platform. They'd be a sight for sore eyes – she couldn't wait to tell them all about her adventures. Though, she decided she might edit a few of them so as not to terrify them too much.

When she slid into bed that night, she found a small envelope propped against her pillow, and her cat, Arthur, looking self-satisfied at his rarely-used mail delivery chops. The letter was addressed to her in tiny, rounded script, with a flourish on all the capital letters. She sat and opened it, her feet dangling off the side of her bed as Arthur curled up in a ball on her comforter. The parchment had a familiar scent to it, and that was when she realized who it was from. The smell was cloying and sweet, just like Trelawney's perfume.

_Amelia,_

_I didn't want you to leave for the summer without some answers. I was cryptic with you at first because I believe self-discovery of one's fate is of utmost importance. However, I was reminded after a startling journey through the mists of the fates that my guidance may be a better help to you than my silence._

"You could have just said you changed your mind," Amelia muttered to herself, then kept reading.

_There is something I would wish you to know, as it will become increasingly relevant in your individual lessons with me, if you wish to continue them._

_You may be wondering why you kept seeing the omen of Death in your tea leaves during our readings. Like the Grimm, the thestral has always been closely associated with Death, as it can only be seen by those who have laid eyes upon Death itself. You had mentioned to me last night that you could see thestrals in the forest, ever since Hagrid introduced you to the orphaned foals. You saw Benjamin arrive on one last night, and they seem attracted to your presence. You also told me once in our lessons that you have never seen anyone die, at least as far as you are aware. How is it, then, that you can see thestrals? The answer is simple, my dear._

_You are a Seer, but I discovered you are more than just that. The night you made a prediction using the crystal ball, the nature of your prediction was enough to convince me. You are a Harbinger._

"What?" Amelia frowned and began to read faster.

_A Harbinger is a rare form of Seer, whose predictions revolve around Death and his presence in our world._

"Master of Death," she muttered, remembering what Blair had whispered to her the night she'd set the spirit loose from her cloner. "Is that why I could hear what she said?"

_Think of it this way. Ordinary Seers often make prophecies regarding a certain subject. I am told mine typically pertained to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, though I cannot personally confirm this. But for Harbingers, the crux and basis of their predictions stems solely from their receptiveness to Death and his movements. They can predict deaths, detect the portals between our world and the world of the dead, and sometimes communicate with those who are no longer with us. These are things that Seers like me are not able to do; you can sense things I probably never will._

_In addition, a Harbinger's predictions are always said in rhyme, as opposed to the prose of ordinary Seers. I confess I was afraid when you made your prediction to me, because it was apparent right away what you were, and I was uncertain of how to proceed. Understand that prophecies made by Harbingers are typically considered unlucky and foreboding. As you and I know, there is some truth to that given the events of the previous night. I didn't know how to tell you this, for you are so young and I did not want to scare you._

_I am sorry it has taken me so long to explain this to you, and I regret not telling you that night. Now that you know you are such a Seer, I hope it might bring some perspective to events in your life you have not been thus far able to explain. In the coming years, I hope to guide you to control and use your abilities, for being a Harbinger can be dangerous to your mind if you are left untrained._

_Please keep the enclosed list of exercises and use them to practice your abilities this summer. It will not require any magic on your part, merely discipline and a clear mind. I think you will find your control over your gift will strengthen if you make these a daily habit of yours. I am hoping that when I see you in September, you will be prepared to advance your training with me._

_It has been a pleasure to get to know you better this year._

_Have a lovely summer, and be prepared for a surprise when you get off the train in London. I cannot tell what kind of surprise, as the Beyond has been cloudy and uncooperative of late, but you may trust in its occurrence as surely as it will rain tomorrow morning._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Trelawney_

With so much to think about, Amelia hardly slept. She kept replaying her memories of the past year, searching for any signs Trelawney was right. If she was a Harbinger, what did that mean for her future? Was she, like Bean, cursed with some kind of hereditary magical trait that would slowly cause her to become a danger to herself or to others? What if she predicted someone's death and they overheard? She'd never know, since she couldn't remember her prophecies. What if she predicted her own death without knowing and someone had to keep it from her?

Her mind swirled with fear and nervous energy, and she stared out her window at the moonlit grounds for the majority of the night. When the first tints of pink began to crest the hills, she noticed a storm brewing on the horizon. It was going to rain after all.

* * *

By the time they stood on the platform at Hogsmeade station the following morning, the misty summer rain was receding back into the surrounding hills, and sunshine made the pavement glisten like gold. James held a caged Hatherley in one hand, and rolled his trunk to rest beside Amelia's. Bridget and Scorpius were exchanging addresses so they could write over the holiday.

Amelia hadn't told her friends about Trelawney's news yet. She figured there would be plenty of time, and she wanted to keep this to herself for now. She wanted to come to terms with it alone first, because her friends would undoubtedly be worried when they found out. She wanted to be able to tell them she had it under control, that it wasn't a big deal. She didn't want them to worry.

It felt odd to be leaving Hogwarts; it had become such a place of belonging and excitement that it would be strange to be away from it all summer. Part of her would always call Hogwarts her home. Nevertheless, Amelia was ready to go back; she missed her family. It was weird to have two places where her heart felt at peace, but such was the Muggle-born wizard's lot, she supposed. Growing up at the intersection of Muggle life, a magical world, and the Seer's "Beyond" would always make her a sort of Venn-diagram. She wouldn't be anywhere close to normal, but she was okay with that.

She had come to understand people could always be multiple things. Their blood, their very selves teemed with oddity and contradiction. Yet, she mused as she and her friends boarded the train, they still lived on, loving and creating and sharing regardless.

They each gave Hagrid the biggest hug they could muster; Amelia's arms barely closed around his giant knee. She caught a flash of blue hair as Teddy, holding hands with Victoire, disappeared into one of the compartments. She kept her eyes on the back of Scorpius' white-blond head as the anomalous Gryffindor sought for an empty compartment where they could all sit. Bridget slid open the door to one down the hall for them, grinning and ushering them into the room with her pleasant accent. Bean sat down across from Amelia on one of the plush seats, absent-mindedly prodding his fangs with his tongue and pulling out the most recent Mitch Maven: Undercover Wizard to read.

James and Scorpius sat on either side of Amelia, playfully shoving her with their shoulders to get more elbow room. Bridget, who'd taken the seat opposite James, laughed.

The journey to London was wonderful. Amelia, though tired from her night without sleep, was disinclined to rest on the train; there was too much to enjoy with her friends before they all separated for the summer. Their compartment bought enough chocolate frogs to feed a small army and slowly worked through them as the sun traversed across the blue sky. James and Bridget were busy trying to catch one frog that had escaped and was now shimmying up the window. Bean was egging them on, his normally pale face flushing a healthy pink from laughing so hard.

Amelia and Scorpius used their time to plan summer picnics at Malfoy Manor, and discussed the best Muggle inventions she could teach him how to use – among them a rubber duck, a blender, and Twitter.

During a lull in the conversation, they leaned into each other, feeling lazy and drowsy from the summer warmth and overabundance of chocolate. She rested her head on his shoulder and he didn't shrug it off. She assumed he was dozing. After a while, however, something occurred to her and she couldn't resist the urge to ask.

"Scorpius?"

"Mmm?" His eyes were still closed.

"What did you say to make Kenny and Paschal so mad on the train to Hogwarts? I never asked."

He opened his eyes, and lifted his head to look at her. "They…said something rude about you and I told them off."

"What did they say?"

"It's really nothing," he said, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

"Don't worry, you can tell me, I won't think it was weird or rude or anything."

"That's not why…" He squirmed for a while, struggling to find words, but finally sighed. "They said it was a shame you were so pretty because they knew my family would never want me to have a crush on a Muggle-born. And I told them that it was perfectly all right for me to like you. I think I ended it by saying your blood was worth more than their bank vaults at Gringotts...and well, they didn't appreciate that."

She lifted her head from his shoulder. "You had a crush on me?"

"No," he said softly, "I  _have_."

She blinked, unsure of what to say. Thankfully she was spared by Bridget, who chose that precise moment to dive onto their seat, landing ungracefully on their legs, clutching a squirming chocolate frog in her hands.

"Got him!" she announced to her blinking, paralyzed friends. James and Bean cheered. She began the somewhat complicated process of getting herself back into a standing position, succeeding after several long seconds. "Oops. Sorry, I hope I didn't crush your legs."

 _Crush_.

Amelia couldn't meet Scorpius' eyes. She found the comfortable moment between them had passed. It felt weird to put her head on his shoulder again now. Unnoticed by the others, she found his hand and held it instead, hoping that would be enough until she could sit down and really think this through.

Her eyes cautiously drifted up to his face, finding at once that both she and Scorpius had turned very red. They let go, embarrassed, and scooted to the other side of the seat, feigning interest in the now-melting chocolate frog. They didn't speak any more on the subject, but Scorpius didn't seem too upset by this. He'd always been patient, and Amelia had always liked that about him. Maybe now wasn't the best moment for a crush, but they had plenty of time to sort that out later.

* * *

There was indeed a surprise when the train pulled in to Kings Cross Station.

Amelia couldn't see at first because of the steam filling the platform, but by the time she'd gathered her trunk, she could scan the crowd easily. After a moment, she understood exactly what Trelawney had meant in her letter. The surprise was so unexpected she thought it must have been a dream.

Standing beside her primly dressed mother and excited father were two very familiar people. Twitchy and somewhat nervous people, but familiar all the same. Her grandparents, Petunia and Vernon, stood on Platform 9 ¾, holding a trembling bouquet of roses.

Amelia didn't know who to hug first, so she ran toward all of them at once.

Once all embraces were exchanged, James, Scorpius, Bean, and Bridget stood behind her, waiting to be introduced.

"Uh, these are my friends from school. Guys, these are my parents and grandparents."

The handshakes were somewhat awkward and formal, but Scorpius seemed enthralled by the Muggles and probably would have asked more questions if his own father hadn't called to him from the other side of the platform. Scorpius said his quick goodbyes, finishing with Amelia's.

"Promise you'll write?" he called as he walked away.

"I'll write if you do!" she promised.

Draco Malfoy gave a stiff wave, nodding to someone behind Amelia. When she turned, she saw the nod was meant for Harry Potter himself, who stood beside Mr. Dursley with his hands in the pockets of his black robes. He nodded curtly back. It wasn't an outright sign of friendship, Amelia thought, but James seemed relieved nobody was going to break anyone's nose. That was enough of an improvement for now, everyone seemed to decide.

Eventually, Bean and Bridget said their goodbyes too – they still had to board trains from London to the airport. The group dwindled down further once Mr. Potter and James left after giving Amelia's grandparents the strangest, most uncomfortable-looking hugs. Still, on the nose-breaking front, the families were in the clear, and that was a significant accomplishment. There was even talk of having brunch next Saturday, a Potter-Dursley affair.

Amelia made her way to stand beside her grandparents again. "I still can't believe you came! Thank you," she said.

Her grandmother smiled modestly. "It was wrong of us to avoid you. We're family. We've got to stick together. Even if we don't understand everything about m-m-magic, we still love you very-"

There was a bang as a dungbomb detonated at the far end of the platform. Two third year boys, likely the culprits, streaked away from the noxious cloud, laughing and hastily hiding their wands. A sixth year girl clutching a cage full of pygmy puffs trod on Grandpa Vernon's toes as she rushed toward the barrier. Amid the sudden magical chaos, Amelia's grandparents began to tremble violently, and Mr. Dursley wisely decided was time they made for the car.

Amelia walked beside her father on the way, clutching Arthur's carrier in one hand and her school bag in the other. Her mother insisted upon carrying her trunk.

"Thanks for bringing them around," she said to her father after a few moments of silence.

"They didn't do it for me." He raised an eyebrow. "They really do love you. It's going to take some getting used to, but I think we can make it work."

"Yes, I believe we can. The hardest decision for them is already over, anyway. They chose us. They chose to be part of our lives again. The rest is just accepting the magic. It should be easy. Well, easier."

"If you got me to befriend a talking chess piece, I think you can get them to see reason," her father chuckled. "I've missed you. Your mother and I were lonely without you. Welcome back, Amelia. It's going to be a good summer."

With the sun shining across the parking lot, a fresh bouquet of roses, and her family at her side, Amelia couldn't help but agree. She felt a thrill of anticipation. She had friends to see, family bonding to champion, and her second year at Hogwarts to look forward to. The world was brimming with buoyant possibilities.

It was easy in that moment for her to decide that family, home, and love were not just determined by blood. They were determined by friendship and by choice too.

Amelia liked her choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...that's a wrap! Thanks for sharing in this adventure with me! Writing this was a blast, and I'm so grateful I got to share it with you.
> 
> I'll post some fun facts about the making of the story and a deleted scene next.
> 
> As always, feel free to drop me a note, I'd love to hear what you thought! I'm also on Tumblr @splitting-infinities if you want to say hi.


	42. Extras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fun facts about the making of the fic and a deleted scene! Thanks so much for reading this, I'm happy I get to share it with you. The fic has been tons of fun to write!

**Fun Facts:**

1\. Most of the owls in the story are named after buildings at the University of Exeter, which J.K. Rowling attended.

  
2\. The initial chapters of this fic were written while I was also studying there.

  
3\. Amelia's cat, Arthur, is named after King Arthur of Camelot.

  
4\. All the new spells used in this story have pertinent Latin translations.

  
5\. The basic plot for this story was planned out in advance, but many of the details took shape in the moment.

  
6\. For example, Bridget's entire arc and possession backstory happened by accident, when I messed up her last name and published a chapter where her last name was Jacobs instead of Bishops. In order to remedy it without going back to change the chapter, I just decided to roll with it, and thus her adoption by Brian Jacobs and the Blair Bishops angle were conceived.

  
7\. Do I know what the fourth Deathly Hallow is? Yes. Yes I do.

  
8\. The Wall of Slytherin is my favorite addition to the Hogwarts castle's secret inner workings.

  
9\. The last chapter sets up the story in such a way that all the events should blend directly with the Epilogue written in Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows. You will find: Scorpius and Rose are now in the same year (her academic acceleration into second year was the plan all along); Ron still wants Rose to beat Scorpius on every test (he'll come around, don't worry); Albus is about to start his first year at Hogwarts; Harry and Draco are on marginally better terms; and James is still determined to prove the existence of Teddy and Victoire's relationship to his family, even if it means interrupting everyone to announce the couple are snogging.

  
10\. Real cloners exist; the concept is based on a real black stone with a white stripe, which I found on a beach during a hunt for seashells.

  
11\. This is the first novel-length story I will ever have completed, though it is not the first thing I have attempted to write.

  
12\. At the end, this story will have over 100,000 words. It was originally intended to have 30 chapters, with no vampires and no OCs besides Amelia.

  
13\. I have tried to render this story as close to book-canon as possible. Please note that this fic treats neither the Fantastic Beasts movies nor The Cursed Child theater production as canon.

* * *

**Deleted Scene:**

The morning after the debacle in the Forbidden Forest, Harry ascended the well-worn steps to the Headmaster's Office. He had barely slept, and was still covered in owl feathers from his brief foray into the owlery to send messages to Ginny and Dudley. He figured Dudley would pardon the use of an owl to send a message if the contents were this important. It wasn't every day Amelia Dursley took down a dark witch with a rock, a broken wand, and a rag-tag group of eleven-year-olds.

Headmistress McGonagall ushered him in with concerned relief, and waited patiently as Harry filled her in on the details of Blair Bishops and what all had taken place.

His story successfully recounted, there was one final issue Harry needed to bring up. He took a deep breath and dove in before he could change his mind.

"Professor, in order to resign my unfortunate position as Master of Death, it seems I need to return the Hallows to Death. I successfully jettisoned the Resurrection Stone last night. Luckily, I know where the other two are."

In his mind, he suddenly remembered Bridget's eerie voice mention  _four_  Hallows. But that wasn't right; she had to have been mistaken. There were only three. The wand, the stone, and the cloak. And yet…a nagging doubt lingered. Perhaps he'd return to the hospital wing after his business here to ask her about what she'd meant by  _four_.

He pressed on. "I hid the Elder Wand here at Hogwarts, and I'd like to ask your permission to retrieve it."

"Certainly, Harry," she said, adjusting her spectacles. "But where, if I may ask, did you hide it that nobody in these long eighteen years has ever found it by accident?"

His eyes slid to Dumbledore's portrait, which was conveniently empty. "Years ago, I told Dumbledore's portrait I was going to put the Elder Wand back 'where it came from,'" he explained, "but I didn't bury it in Dumbledore's tomb. I wasn't about to dig him up for a second time. I do not fear death, but I respect the peace of the dead. I still left it with Dumbledore, from whom the wand came, but I put it in a lesser known location."

"A wise choice," McGonagall said primly. She didn't appear at all shocked. She remained unflappable, as always. "Do I need to accompany you to this place, or would you prefer to go alone?"

"Actually, Professor, there's no need. It's right here." He stepped around the desk, walking forward until he could reach the frame of Dumbledore's portrait. He pinched one corner, rotating the portrait slightly downward until a hole in the wall, which had been concealed by the bottom right corner of the frame, was revealed. "Here. Protected at Hogwarts, and the last place anyone would look. The Elder W-"

But Harry stopped talking as he realized the horrible truth. His adrenaline was already spiking, sending his pulse into a frenzy.

The Elder Wand was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, feel free to drop me a note to say hi or stop by my Tumblr @splitting-infinities.


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